


Hammer My Heartbeat

by derekswolfpackage



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Cancer, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, construction worker!Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekswolfpackage/pseuds/derekswolfpackage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's girlfriend surprises him by hiring a team to remodel their house. Stiles is a construction worker on said team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The last few chapters are a bit shorter but I'm still pretty proud of them.
> 
> WARNING: There are homophobic slurs in chapter 3. It's not in a good way (is that even a kink? i hope not) but I wanted to add a warning because they were hard for me to write and they might be hard to read
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr :) derekswolfpackage.tumblr.com

_This has been the longest day of my life_ , Derek thought, passing a hand across his face and brushing the stubble there. It had grown in quite nicely, if he did say so himself. _No. This has been the longest day of  this life and every past life I have ever lived._

            “Ma’am, can I escort you back to your room?” He crouched down next to an elderly woman, sitting on a park bench--a park bench that was five miles from the home.

            “What?” the woman asked, looking from his hand to his face, “Oh, my _room_! Of course, dear; it’s right down the hall.”

            “Mrs. Peterson, you’re in the park,” Derek said, gritting his teeth. He should be used to this by now. Mrs. Peterson wandered off at least once a month, if not more. Something was up with the security in Beacon Hills. Did they really only have three deputies?

            The woman held out her hand and let him help her up. He led her back to his car, holding the door open for her before walking around and getting in. Putting the key into the ignition, he forced a smile in the general direction of Mrs. Peterson. The car roared to life, sputtered, and died.

            “You have got to be kidding me,” Derek growled, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. A loud beep rang through the empty parking lot, startling Mrs. Peterson enough to make her jump.

            “Oh dear!” she said, clutching her heart.

            “A heart attack is just what we need right now,” Derek muttered to himself, furiously punching numbers into his iPhone with one finger.

            “Ted? It’s Derek. I’m gonna need a jump.”

            As he pulled into the driveway, Kate hurried out to meet him, hips swinging as she walked.

            “Hi, honey,” she said, smiling, “Don’t be mad.” As the words tumbled out of her mouth, quickly and almost unintelligible, the corners of Derek’s mouth turned down further—if that was even possible at the moment. Kate started to speak again, but Peter came running down the driveway before she was able to get more than a few syllables out.

            “Hey there, nephew of mine,” Peter said with mock enthusiasm, “Did your girl tell you about the house yet?”

            “What. About. The house?” Derek managed to spit out.

            “I hired Peter to renovate the basement!” Kate clapped her hands, the corners of her mouth turning up about as much as Derek’s turned down. Derek paused for a minute, looking from his girlfriend to his uncle, before  attempting what should have been a smile, but what instead held no expression other than disdain. Within seconds, his face sank back into its usual scowl, and he climbed out of his car and walked past Kate and Peter into the house.

            Inside, there were workers _everywhere_. They were like ants, swarming the stairs and jumping away from his stomping feet. He ignored them and skulked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and crawling into bed.

            Somehow, despite the ear-shattering hammering and gruff men talking, Derek managed to fall asleep. His nap was short-lived, however, and he was woken by the sound of shattering glass.

            Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Derek swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to stretch his arms high above his head and sit for a moment before investigating. He had been blissfully asleep. If only he could remember the dream he was having, something to do with Ryan Gosling….

            The door burst open, causing Derek to jump about three feet in surprise.  The lanky man—boy, more like it--who entered didn’t seem to notice, a string of obscenities falling from his lips. Derek watched as the boys’ eyes scanned the floor. They made their way to his feet and shot up to Derek’s face.

            “I really fu—shit! I—uh—sorry, I thought this was a closet,” the boy almost shouted at him. “I—fuck—um—I kind of dropped… something.”

            “What kind of something?” Derek sighed. He was a master at cleaning up broken light bulbs.

            “Um…a window?” the kid said, the end of his sentence rising into a question.

            “You dropped a—how did you drop a _window_?” Derek growled, incredulous.

            “Yeah. Well, they’re heavier than they look. I know I look super strong, but apparently windows are my kryptonite.”

            “Apparently,” Derek deadpanned, following the boy into the hallway. His chocolatey brown eyes found Derek’s face.

            “What were you doing in there? I mean—um—who are you?”

            “I live here.”

            “Oh.” Derek watched as the boy’s adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Then I guess I really fucked up.”

            Something about the kid made Derek want to ease up a little, but another part of him wanted to wrap his hands around the boys skinny neck and squeeze. He remained silent as the boy rambled about slippery hands and clumsy feet. Just when Derek was reaching his limit, a tall man with a crooked jaw walked past the hallway entrance, disappeared for a moment, and then returned, walking backwards while looking at the pair with questioning eyes.

            “Scott!” the boy cried, obviously relieved to have company under Derek’s heated glare. “I kind of had an accident—with a window, I mean. This is Kate’s boyfriend…”

            “Derek,” Derek supplied, eyes scanning the lanky kid. He had to be older than he looked, so technically he was a man. Technically. The other man, Scott, approached them with a wide grin. Derek couldn’t help but think he resembled a big, dopey puppy.

            “Nice to meet you, Derek! I’m Scott, and I’m really sorry about my idiot friend,” Scott said, holding out his hand expectantly. Derek took it, wondering how on earth he got into this mess. The man kept talking, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck which made the double-lined tattoo on his arm pulse. “You really don’t have to worry about the window, sir. We’ll get it taken care of right away. I don’t know if you’ve met our coordinator, Peter, but—”

            “Oh, I’ve met him,” Derek said, his voice so low that it took Scott a moment to register that Derek had even spoken.

            “Oh, you have—ok, that doesn’t sound good. We’ll get out of your hair now!” Scott blurted, grabbing his friend by the ear and pulling him down the hallway.

            “Ow—Mom! That hurts!” the boy yelled, loudly enough to make Derek cringe. “Sorry about the window! I’m glad you weren’t naked when I walked in!” The two men turned the corner, and Derek raked his hand through his hair. Two hands reappeared, clutching the wall, and were followed by a face that was so sideways Derek deduced that Scott was holding onto both the boy’s legs and pulling. “I’m Stiles, by the way!” The boy shouted, before disappearing again.

_Fuck_.

            This was the worst first day ever. Like, ever ever. In the history of evers. Stiles cringed as he listened to the sound of shattered glass being poured into a trash bag. The soft _tink-tink-tink_ from the other room reminded him of his _incident_. In his defense, it really was a slippery window.

            He just… got a little distracted.

            Distracted by the pictures of a _very_ handsome guy with Kate Argent on the wall.

            Then imagine his surprise when he burst into what he thought was a closet only to find said guy sitting on the bed looking frazzled—in the sexiest use of the term. Stiles didn’t even remember what he said to the guy, but he was pretty sure that he had been cursing like a sailor. At his client. Stiles groaned and leaned back against the wall, head bouncing slightly from the impact. He had just cursed at his client. His extremely tall, dark, and handsome client. But his client, nonetheless. Not to mention now Scott was all cranky with him, telling him that he had put himself on the line getting Stiles this job.

            Yeah, yeah, yeah.

            He found his way into a _real_ closet, one where he was taking cover until the work day was over. No one would miss him anyway. He was a shitty worker. The only reason he was here was so he could get paid. He had never worked in construction in his life. He knew how to hammer nails and screw screws, but he had never actually _built_ anything. Sure, he had helped his dad build a treehouse… but then again he’d also watched that same tree house fall apart and out of the tree the second his father declared it done. So, yeah: construction was not his forte.

            As he was cursing his useless existence, the door to the closet opened. He stared, wide-eyed, as one of Scott’s construction worker friends glanced down at him.

            “Stiles,” the man said, nodding down toward him.

            “Isaac.” Stiles nodded back. “Look I can—”

            “No need,” Isaac said, smirking. “I’m just looking for an extra hammer.” Stiles was a little offended that Isaac didn’t ask him to explain. Weren’t they supposed to report slackers? He should _totally_ be reported.

            “Haven’t seen it,” Stiles replied. Isaac nodded and closed the door, leaving Stiles alone with his self-loathing thoughts.

            A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Stiles didn’t look up this time.

            “No hammer here, man. I promise I looked.”

            “I’m not looking for a hammer,” a deep voice said. Stiles’ head shot up so fast he practically gave himself whiplash. It was Derek. Stiles groaned. This was absolutely _perfect_.

            “Look, sir, I’m really sorry; I just needed a minute. Please don’t tell Peter that I’m slacking off.”

            “I think it’s better for all of us if you stay here. Away from anything breakable,” Derek said, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly—just enough that Stiles couldn’t tell if he was actually joking or if he was about to kill him. “I was just looking for the dishtowels we keep in here.”

            “Um, yeah. I’m kind of sitting on them. Here.” Stiles handed the crumpled towels to his client, blushing at their warmth. Derek took them, looking from Stiles to the towels and back to Stiles before sighing.

            “Listen…Stiles?” he continued once Stiles nodded in confirmation, “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. It’s been a long day. Some woman—” He stopped, as if realizing that he had almost just shared a personal moment of his day with a complete stranger. Stiles was nodding like he was actually interested—because he was actually interested-- but Derek just said, “It’s been a long day. So. Sorry.” Stiles smiled wryly at the apology and said, “S’okay. I broke your window, dude. I kind of deserved it.”

            Derek nodded once, looking down again at the towels he was clutching.

            An hour and a half later, Scott burst into the closet.

            “Come on, I’ve been looking for you. We were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago.” Stiles sighed with relief and allowed his friend to help him up and drive him home.

 

            Stiles made it into the apartment first, which meant that he was the first to make it to the couch. This meant he got to spread his lanky legs out as far as he wanted.

            “Aw come on, dude,” Scott said, entering the living room and taking a seat on the chair. He looked so upset and uncomfortable that Stiles couldn’t help but burst into laughter. In the midst of his amusement, a cat strode into the room and jumped onto the couch, sitting on Stiles’ chest with a thud.

            “Oof--get off me, you fatass,” Stiles said, despite reaching a hand up to scratch behind the cat’s ears.

            “So,” Scott started in that tone that meant _this is not going to be a fun conversation_ , “you know you’ll have to pay for that window, right?”

            “How?” Stiles groaned. “I’m already broke enough that I have to resort to working in _construction_.”

            “Um, Peter’s going to take it out of your paycheck until it’s paid off…” Scott looked ashamed. It wasn’t like he was the one that dropped the window. Still, Stiles was a little pissed.

            “It wasn’t even my fault!” Stiles shouted, throwing his hands exasperatedly into the air, which slightly offset the cat and made him turn angry eyes on Stiles.

            “It wasn’t?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “No! It was that guy! Derek! His pictures are plastered all over the hallway and I got distracted by his muscle-y body!” At this, Scott huffed, half a laugh, half a sound of fake-annoyance.

            “Stiles, he’s got a girlfriend. We’re renovating a house for him and his _girlfriend_.”

            “Well a guy can dream. And trust me, I’ll be having some _good_ dreams about that guy.” Stiles grinned over at Scott, who threw a pillow at him and made a sound of disgust. Stiles laughed and threw the pillow back, but missed Scott by a good five feet, largely thanks to the cat sitting on his chest.

            The boys played Xbox until Allison came over, at which point she and Scott disappeared in a whirl of laughter and blushes to Scott’s room.

            “Ugh, gross,” Stiles whispered under his breath as he reached for his laptop. He hesitated before typing Derek’s name into the search bar on Facebook; was this creepy? _It isn’t_ , he convinced himself. _I just want to know more about the man I’m working for_.

            Derek’s Facebook was not as interesting as he had hoped. It was so neat and tidy that it looked like it had been made by someone else. He only had a couple photos, and his profile picture was one of him and Kate standing in front of a Christmas tree. Derek was smiling a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His ‘About Me’ was pathetic, listing his current job (nurse at the Beacon Hills Retirement Home) and nothing else. Stiles sighed and closed his laptop. Scott was right--this guy was a flaming heterosexual, and even if he wasn’t, there was no way that he would be interested in Stiles--especially after he broke a window and made the end of the guy’s day horrible.

No, he wouldn’t get hung up on this one.

        It had been three days since Kate spontaneously hired his uncle to fuck everything up in his house, and Derek was tired of the constant pounding headache that was brought on by the workers’ noise. They weren’t just in the basement; they were _everywhere_. He needed to get out.

            As soon as he parked in his sister’s driveway, her front door opened and a giant golden retriever came barreling out. He barely had time to close the car door before the dog was upon him, her tongue lathering his face with kisses. Laura stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, laughing.

            “Hi baby!” Derek cooed, grinning and scratching the dog wherever she would let him. He may have hate the world, but he loved his dog. She knocked him to a sitting position and settled in between his legs, her tongue never stopping. Still laughing, Laura made her way down the driveway to try to drag the dog away from her owner.

            “She missed you,” she said, finally wrangling the dog and leaning down to help her brother up.

            “I know, I know. I’ve been so busy.” He gave the dog an apologetic rub on the head as the trio made their way into the house.

            Laura went straight to the kitchen, getting her old-fashioned tea kettle ready before plopping down into a kitchen chair opposite Derek.

            “You look tense, little brother,” she said, reaching out and patting his hand once.

            “Yeah, well. It’s not easy to be relaxed when you have guys in your house fifteen hours a day, pounding on who knows what,” Derek replied. “I don’t understand where this came from. Everything with the basement was ‘perfect’ and the next day it’s time to redecorate. It’s hard to keep that woman happy.” Laura nodded with sympathy, getting up to finish preparing the tea. She remained silent as she buzzed around the kitchen, which prompted Derek to ask, “What do you think?”

            “Ohhh, no. Ha ha, no. I’m not giving you my opinion.” Laura screwed up her face across the room. Derek knew she had some beef with Kate, but he couldn’t imagine what it was. Kate was a little annoying sometimes, but not any more than Laura (most of the time). He always shrugged it off--fighting with his sister was not really a fun pastime of his. Laura saw his gloomy face and threw an orange in his direction. He caught it without flinching.

            “Hey, cheer up, grumpy pants,” she teased. “At least they’re not adding anything to the house or something.”

            “Shhh, don’t say stuff like that,” Derek said, glaring at the ceiling. “Someone will hear you and make it happen.”

            “Oh my God, Der. You need a brighter outlook on life,” Laura said, setting the tea tray down on the table and doing a little leap. “Be happy!”

            As soon as she said this, Derek’s phone buzzed. _Thinking about tearing a wall away in the basement to make more room_. Derek silently turned the phone to Laura, who covered her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress giggles.

            “At least it’s not an addition,” she said again. Derek glared at her.

 

            The two days after the window incident were pure torture. Stiles learned that he couldn’t hammer nails in straight (which was a little ironic considering the fact that he wasn’t exactly the straightest nail either). He learned that levels were a pain in the ass to work with when you couldn’t keep your hand still for more than five seconds, and he learned that he was just not cut out for construction.

            And then, on the third day, there was Derek.

            The man had entered the house, looking more frayed than he had the day of the window incident. Stiles, struggling with a handsaw, noticed that Derek’s pants were covered with dirty paw prints. Derek glanced in Stiles’ direction and sighed, walking towards his bedroom. Moments later he reappeared, trudging in Stiles’s direction.

            “I was just going to ignore it, but I can’t,” Derek said.

            “I--uh--ignore what?” Stiles asked, putting the saw down and sucking on the pad of his thumb.

            “This,” Derek said, gesturing towards the table. On it lay a few pieces of unevenly cut wood, and what may or may not have been bloodstains. “Let me help you."

            Stiles’ eyes widened, and he took his still-bleeding thumb out of his mouth to reply. “Oh, no, sir. You don’t have to help me. You hired us so you didn’t have to do this yourself.”

            “ _I_ did not hire you. My girlfriend hired you. If I had any say in the matter, I would have done it myself,” Derek replied, lips momentarily turning down into a scowl. He placed his hand on Stiles chest, obviously intending to push him to the side or something. Stiles, however, was so surprised at the sudden contact that he stumbled backwards on his own and had to flail his arms to regain his balance. Derek paused, taking a moment to smirk at Stiles before reaching for the saw.

            “Okay,” he said, looking back to make sure Stiles was paying attention. When he saw that he was, he continued, “I don’t know what you’re doing to get these boards so uneven, but it must be really wrong. Watch how I’m holding the saw.” Derek finished sawing the 2x4 and held it out to Stiles as if to say _now you try_. Stiles took it, along with a deep breath.

            It took him a few tries to get it, and none of his were as good as Derek’s, but by the time they ran out of 2x4’s, Derek was looking pretty proud. He ended up following Stiles around for the rest of the day, teaching him how to do everything correctly. Stiles couldn’t say he minded too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you THANK YOU to all my amazing betas!
> 
> hotterthanhale.tumblr.com, kristianlaura.tumblr.com, and demondimples.tumblr.com <3
> 
> a GIANNTTTT thank you to ealdra.tumblr.com for enduring my stress and being wonderful  
> and thank you so much oziancarnival.tumblr.com for editing on such short notice!!
> 
> of course thanks to my very first non-editing betas and best friends, Kiera (ygrits.tumblr.com) and Lydia (everythingsanilllusion.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

            It’d been a little over a month, and Derek was still helping Stiles with his work. When Peter was around, Derek would hang back and pretend to be inspecting the work, but when he wasn’t, Derek stuck close to Stiles--close enough to lunge at him before he had a chance to saw through his finger or hammer a hole in the wall. Derek felt a little like a stalker, but this kid was a handful, and Stiles honestly kind of needed someone to keep an eye on him at all times.

            Scott had become something of a comrade, and whenever he was working, he trusted Scott to take on not only his own work but Stiles’ as well. It would be a lie to say that he and Stiles weren’t friends, even though the word tasted strange in his mouth.

            “What the hell are you listening to?” Derek shouted over the music that was blasting in the basement bathroom.

            “Twenty-One Pilots!” Stiles yelled back, handing a tile sample to Isaac and reaching over to turn the music down. “They’re pretty cool, dude. They sing about losing your mind and stuff.” Derek nodded along with what Stiles was saying, though he didn’t exactly get the appeal of whatever this rap-screamo-singing was.

            After two hours and the realization that the album was on repeat, Derek found himself singing along under his breath. Stiles caught him and gave him a thumbs up, reaching over to grab the hammer he had been using.

            “They’re good, right?” he asked, his smile widening when Derek nodded. “Here, give me your number and I’ll send you some free download links.” Derek reluctantly handed his phone over. Eight months later and he was still cringing at the Christmas picture that Kate had set as his background. He watched as Stiles saw it, too, pausing for only a second before bringing up Derek’s contacts. He typed some things into the phone and handed it back to Derek.

            “I sent a text to my number,” he explained, “so now I can send you the links.”

            Two more hours and the men had all somehow wound up laying on the floor, cheeks resting against the cool tile.

            “Are your stairs a portal to hell?” Isaac croaked as Stiles nodded enthusiastically.

            “It is way too hot in here,” Scott agreed, slowly rolling onto his back and fanning himself with his hands. They had abandoned all work half an hour ago, opting instead to lay as still as possible and hope that the heat would forget they were there.

            There was a knock on the door and the sound of a throat being cleared. Derek looked up to see a man he didn’t recognize.

            “Um, Peter wants to see you, Derek,” the man said, a strange expression on his face as he looked from person to person. Derek nodded and waited for the man to leave.

            “Who was that?” he hissed at Stiles as he peeled his sweaty body up from the floor.

            “That was Boyd. He’s been working on the lighting in the pool room,” Stiles whispered back. Derek could have sworn his eyes fell from Derek’s face to the rest of his body, but he brushed it off. Stiles had been dropping small, but very unsubtle, hints for a few weeks now, and Derek was determined to ignore them. He had a girlfriend. _A girlfriend who is driving me up the wall_ , he thought, walking into a room  where Peter was surveying a couple workers. He didn’t have time for boys and their crushes. No matter how good they might look as a sweaty mess on the floor. Derek could think of some other situations where he would be sweaty...

            “Derek!” Peter called as he approached. Derek shook off whatever thoughts he was having and nodded slightly at Peter.

            “I was wondering what color you think would look better on these walls!” his uncle said, gesturing to the basement.

            “Oh, you’re asking my opinion, now?” Derek retorted. Peter pretended to be  taken aback for a moment and then smirked.

            “Well, I figured since you’ve become _very involved_ that I should ask you.” What did he mean? Derek didn’t know what he meant.

            Ok, so Peter was catching on to him helping Stiles. Was that the only part he had caught on to?

            “That boy sure does seem to like you.” _Shit._ Ok, so Derek wasn’t the only one picking up on the hints. Derek gave Peter one of his best sarcastic smiles, breathing evenly out of his nose to regulate his temper. Peter looked at Derek expectantly, eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

            “Does he?” Derek managed to spit out. “I didn’t notice.”

            August passed, _finally,_ and September brought slightly cooler weather. _Slightly,_ Stiles thought, wiping the sweat from his brow as he hammered. He felt a presence behind him, and swung around, hammer still in hand.

            “Woah,” Derek said, ducking back  to avoid Stiles’ swinging arm. “Easy there.” Stiles put the hammer down on the work table and pointed a finger at Derek.

            “You. You cannot sneak up on people like that. I could have bashed your skull in!”

            “Calm down, Tyreese, this isn’t The Walking Dead. Plus I know how to duck  weak swings--I played baseball.”

            The fact that Derek was sharing his personal life with Stiles overpowered the insult. In the last month or so, Derek had let little things slip as they worked. He played basketball in high school, and apparently baseball, too. He and his older sister Laura were really close. He liked the smell of apple-scented air fresheners and candles, and he had a dog named Ginny who stayed with Laura because Kate was allergic. The last fact had made Stiles laugh and ask if “Ginny” was a Harry Potter reference. When Derek reluctantly told him that yes, it was, and that Ginny was a present when he was younger, Stiles laughed even harder and admitted that  he had a cat named Frodo. This sparked a debate between them about who was a better wizard: Dumbledore or Gandalf.

            “Okay, listen,” Derek said, pulling Stiles back to the present. “I’ve been thinking, and yeah, Gandalf is an okay wizard, but he was kind of a dick to everyone.” Apparently, the debate was not over.

            Stiles snorted. “Oh, like Dumbledore wasn’t? He ignored Harry for the entire fifth book!” Derek opened his mouth to argue and closed it again.

            “Okay, dude. Stalemate. It’s pretty obvious neither of us are going to win.” Stiles held out his hand to call a truce.

            “Hell no,” Derek said, slapping Stiles’ hand away, “I’m not giving up that easily. I have a ton of Dumbledore knowledge under my belt.”

            “How about a ton of homoerotic subtext under your belt?” Stiles thoughtlessly. Had he just said that? He just said that. “Um, I mean...because Dumbledore was gay, right?” Derek nodded, his mouth turned down on one side. Stiles turned around under the pretense of hammering some more things, but in his haste, the hammer slipped out of his hands and onto his foot.

            “FUCK ME!” Stiles yelled, loud enough for Scott and Boyd to turn and look at him from across the room. Stiles slid down the wall onto the floor, clutching his foot with both hands. Above him, Derek was trying not to laugh, and Stiles realized that he had just said (and screamed) two very inappropriate things in the span of a minute.

            “Do you want--? I’ll go get some ice,” Derek said, gauging the pained expression Stiles knew he was wearing. Stiles gingerly took off his boot and clutched his foot dramatically, whimpering until Derek returned with a washcloth full of ice. As he bent down, placing the ice gingerly on Stiles’ foot, Stiles looked up and realized that Derek’s face was dangerously close to his own. Close enough that Stiles could see the tiny laugh lines in the corner of his eyes and when he smiled, Stiles could closely examine his rabbit teeth. If he wanted to. But what he really wanted to do was reach out and pull Derek in, running a tongue over said rabbit teeth while his hands roamed the rest of his delicious body.

            “Is that too cold?” Derek asked, shaking Stiles out of his daydream. Again. Stiles shook his head dumbly, still focused on what Derek’s hand would feel like sliding up and down his--

            “Stiles, maybe we should have a ‘no tools’ rule for you,” Isaac quipped, smirking.

            “Well what the heck would I do, then, Isaac?” Stiles asked, sticking his tongue out before realizing how childish he looked.

            Before Isaac had a chance to come up with a smartass retort, Lydia descended the staircase, followed by Allison and Erica.

            “We thought you boys might be a little hungry,” Lydia said, shaking a bag of what looked to be Chinese food. “Oh!” she exclaimed, noticing Derek. “Hi, I’m Lydia.”

            Derek grunted and took off a work glove to shake her hand. Allison looked bashful; Derek assumed they had not expected him to be home, so he gave them a small smile to let them know it was okay.

            Soon after, a voice called down from the top of the stairs. “Der?” Laura appeared, carrying box from Derek’s favorite Mexican place. “Oh, sorry. I hadn’t realized you were already eating,” Laura said, putting the box on the counter.

            “It’s no problem, the Chinese wasn’t for me anyways,” Derek replied.

            “Of course it is!” Allison spoke up, walking over to introduce herself to Laura. Meanwhile, Isaac was staring longingly at the Mexican food.

            “So, you guys are taking good care of my baby brother?” Laura asked after she shook everybody’s hands. Derek heard a clapping sound, like someone being hit on the back, and then the sounds of someone choking. Turning around, he realized Stiles was practically guzzling water as Isaac smirked, patting him lightly on the back, but Derek suspected he was the one who had caused Stiles to get flustered and choke in the first place.

            Kate had been oddly absent for the past week or so. Derek said goodbye to her in the mornings, and she came home long after he was asleep. When he asked her about it she laughed at him and told him that she had work to do at the firm, and things would be back to normal soon. The fifth night she crawled into bed after two, Derek made himself wake up enough to roll towards her.

            “You smell like alcohol,” he said.

            “I had a few drinks while I worked on this case file,” she replied. And that was that.

           

            “Yo, dude,” Stiles called as Derek made his way down the basement stairs, “Where’ve you been?”

            “Mrs. Peterson wandered off again. I had to find her,” Derek replied, seething.

            “Where’d you find her?” Stiles asked, trying to mask his amusement.

            “Mall. Other side of town,” Derek growled, stalking towards the tools. He knew Stiles and Scott were laughing behind his back, and when he turned around, hammer in his hand, Scott looked like he was about to start running while Stiles looked like a half ashamed but somewhat defiant dog.

            “Can we please talk about something else?” Derek asked.

            “Sure. How about Gandalf, the greatest wizard the world has ever known?”

            “How about not,” Derek deadpanned. Stiles looked almost hurt, so he added, “Because it’s not true. Dumbledore will always win this fight.” Stiles was visably relievedand Derek felt his heart flutter at the goofy grin he received.

            “Hey, dude, we’re all going to get a beer after we’re done working if you want to join,” Scott offered.

Stiles looked almost as taken aback as Derek felt. Did these people consider him a friend? Did he have real friends, outside of Dave from the home who sometimes helped him clean up patients?

            “Um, sure. I’ve probably gotta clean up first,” he said, instead of externalizing his inner friends crisis.

            “No worries,” Stiles finally piped up. “We’ve gotta go home first anyways. We can meet you there?”

            “Dude. Dude, dude dude. DUDE.”

            “Stiles, if you say ‘dude’ one more time I’m going to end you,” Scott said, glancing at Stiles from the corner of his eye. Stiles said it again, just for good measure, and watched as Scott gripped the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

            “Really though, dude,” Stiles said, holding his hands up in defense when Scott shot him a murderous look, “did you HAVE to invite Derek?”

            “I was being friendly,” Scott replied, nonchalantly.

            “Well, your friendliness got me some anxiety and an outfit struggle.”

            “No. Not that one.”

            “Why not? I like this one!” Stiles said defensively as Lydia plucked his favorite button-down out of his hands with her thumb and forefinger. Instead of replying, she shook her head and pushed past him to access his closet. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand without even turning around Instead, he took a seat on the edge of his bed and waited, lazily petting Frodo.

            Less than a minute later she emerged holding a pair of dark jeans Stiles didn’t even know he had, a faded AC/DC shirt, and a flannel that he thought Scott had stolen in college.

            “Won’t that make me look like a hobo?” he asked skeptically. Lydia sighed.

            “Stiles, have you ever heard the term ‘hipster’? Throw on a beanie and some wide-rimmed glasses and you’re set to go.”

            “I don’t want to be a hipster,” Stiles whined.

            “Which is why you’re not wearing a beanie and wide-rimmed glasses. Now go get dressed. You have a date.”

            “It’s not a _date_ ,” Stiles complained, but the redhead merely flipped her hair over one shoulder and examined her cuticles. “It’s not a date,” he repeated.

            His hands were sweating and he was jittery. _This is not a date_ , Derek thought, smoothing his hair down with one hand. He was sitting in his Camaro in the parking lot of the bar where they were supposed to meet, waiting. Derek’s tragic flaw was that he hated being late, but he also hated going into unfamiliar places alone. Therefore his strategy was to get there before everyone else and then wait for them. Once they got there, he would pretend like he had also just arrived, and walk in with them or right after them. It may be pathetic, but it worked.

            Kate, of course, had not come home before he left, so he had written a note for her and left it on the counter. Derek was thinking about his past few lonely nights when a powder blue jeep pulled into the lot, jerking into the closest available spot. He knew it was Stiles. It _had_ to be Stiles. Sure enough, moments later, lanky legs followed by the rest of the boy came swinging out of the driver’s side. He waited at the front of the jeep for Scott to join him from the other side of the car and the two headed in together. Derek closed his eyes and waited a beat--this was _not_ a date--before getting out of his car and following them into the bar.

            “Hey, Derek, _hey_!” Stiles cried over the music, giving him a not so subtle once over. He had decided to stick with his boring casual look tonight: jeans, a white tee, and his favorite leather jacket. He gave Stiles a small smile while also subtly checking him out. He had never seen him in regular clothes, not that he minded sweaty tank tops, but he looked _good_.

            “Where’s Scott?”

            “Getting a beer,” Stiles replied, cocking his head to the left where Scott was, indeed, getting a beer.

            “I’m going to go get one. Do you want anything?” Derek asked, eyeballing Stiles. He was definitely a liquor guy.

            “I’m good. I’m playing designated driver tonight,” Stiles replied. Damn. Derek had wanted to see if his prediction was true.  Derek walked over to the bar to join Scott, who happily shook his hand. Suddenly, the guy’s hand flew into the air. _He’s waving_ , Derek told himself. _At friends_. He turned to see Isaac walk in, Boyd not far behind, hand-in-hand with Erica. Scott jerked his thumb in Stiles’ direction, and Isaac nodded and headed that way. Derek watched for a moment as Stiles grinned, clapping the two men on the back, and turned to the woman to make an elaborate bow. Derek assumed she rolled her eyes (that’s what he would have done) and he watched as she shoved his shoulder. He mimed an injury, but his face broke into a goofy grin once more when he caught Derek’s eye. Derek smiled back, hesitantly. What was he getting himself into?

            Two hours later, Derek was _drunk_. How had that happened? Derek didn’t get drunk. Stiles handed him a double rum and coke as he pondered how he had gotten so—what was the word Stiles had used? Wastey faced?—Wastey pantsed. Derek laughed to himself--that wasn’t even _a word_! He took a long drag of his drink and smiled at Stiles.

            “You!” he said. “You did this!” Stiles looked confused until Derek pointed at himself and then his drink in a ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ kind of way.

            “You did this to yourself, buddy,” Stiles said, patting Derek on the back. That was…  Okay, it was probably true. Once everyone was sufficiently buzzed, Stiles had suggested everyone play a drinking game called ‘Thunder’. _The rules are simple!_ he had explained. _I’m going to go play Thunderstruck by AC/DC and we go in a circle. On the first ‘thunder’ Derek will drink and keep drinking until they say ‘thunder’ again, and the next person (Boyd, that’s you!) has to drink_. Derek had been sober enough to catch on to the fact that Stiles had programmed the jukebox to play the song five times, but his pride had taken over when Erica—was that her name?—had called him a pussy for opting out of the second round. He was _not_ a pussy. That was where everything had gone downhill. At least that’s where he _thought_ everything had gone downhill. It could have also been when Stiles realized how much he liked Drunk Derek and had started buying him drinks.

            “I _love_ this song!” Erica—that was definitely her name—cried, surprising him by grabbing his hand and attempting to pull him to the dance floor. He stumbled and almost fell off his barstool before he felt a steadying hand on his back. Looking up, he realized he was face to face with Stiles.

            “Woah,” was all he managed to get out. Stiles let out a big belly laugh and helped him back into his seat. Derek looked down at their joined hands, then the hand on his arm, and then at Stiles. Stiles was _pretty_. He liked Stiles.

            Stiles must have seen the way Derek was looking at him, because he said, “Guys, I’m going to take Derek home. Uh, to his own house. Do _not_ drive. I will be back in less than an hour to pick you up.” Derek nodded along before he felt himself being pulled to his feet. Where was he going? _Home_ , Stiles had said. Derek nodded. Home. Kate was at home. He had forgotten about Kate.

            The drive home wasn’t much longer than fifteen minutes, but Derek was looking a little worse for the wear. Stiles knew he had to think of some way to keep him awake and/or from throwing up.

            “So this one time,” he began, making sure Derek was still conscious, “when I was in highschool, like freshman year or something, I got _really_ high, like way too high to function. And marijuana and anti-anxiety and ADHD drugs apparently don’t really mix for some people, so I was wigging out. I was with Scott, and he tried to calm me down, so he took me to Walmart. Why Walmart? Who even knows.” Stiles reached over to nudge Derek gently. “Are you listening?” Derek nodded. “Good. So. Walmart, we were in Walmart, and everything was upside down. It was so long ago but I can still remember Scott standing by the freaking popcorn asking me what kind he should get. I said ‘Scotty, it’s popcorn. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I need to get out of here right now.’ So we went to the parking lot and guess what I did?”

            “What?” Derek asked, smiling dopily.

            “I called my mom. I said ‘Mom, don’t get mad. I got kind of high. I got really high and I’m freaking out.’ And you know what she did? She came and picked me up. I sat in that car and I reclined the seat, over and over and over again and I just kept talking about how I couldn’t believe that I was high in the car with my mom.”

            “Did you get in trouble?” Derek asked, more conscious than before.

            “No, that’s the best part. When we got home she said ‘I told your father that you were upset about a girl. Just walk past him and don’t say anything,’ and to this day I still don’t think he knows. She tucked me in and gave me some intense medication that calmed me the fuck down.”

            “Sounds like a good mom,” Derek replied.

            “Yeah, she was.” Everything was quiet for a moment before Stiles spoke up again. “She died. Not long after that she died of some crazy brain cancer. Well, not brain cancer--it was called frontotemporal dementia... but it's easier just to say brain cancer--no one asks questions about that because people understand what brain cancer means.”

            “I’m sorry,” Derek said softly.

            “It’s okay, dude,” Stiles replied. “Let’s just get you home without puking.”

 

            Derek was slowly sobering up, but still needed a little bit of help walking, so Stiles hopped out of his jeep and met the man at his door. He opened it and glared at Stiles. Man, this guy was grumpy when he was sobering up. Stiles held his hands up and backed away.

            “Fine, you can walk by yourself. I totally trust you,” he said, watching as Derek practically fell from his side of the car. Stiles tried not to giggle—he was actually about to _giggle_ —as Derek held a steadying hand to the car. The man groaned and let his head fall onto the car hood, face shielded by his arms.

            “Okay, big man, it won’t hurt your ego to get a little bit of help,” Stiles said, sliding an arm around Derek’s _extremely_ firm waist. The man threw an arm over Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles made an _oof_ sound, patting Derek’s chest. Did he mention that Derek was very muscular? The two made their way to the door in a zigzagged walk. Stiles opened the door and set Derek free, and then thought better of it and walked the man to his couch.

            “I’m fine,” Derek mumbled from where he was laying face-down in the couch cushions.

            “Okay, but at least let me get you a blanket,” Stiles answered. “Are they in your room?” Before Derek could answer he was making his way down the hallway. Thinking about the semi-conscious man on the couch, Stiles opened the bedroom door, and—whoa. _How can you even do that with your legs?_ Was Stiles’ first thought. His second was, _Oh shit, Derek._

            It was too late. Derek had stumbled into the room after him and stopped dead at the unholy sight that was laid—or maybe bent was the better word—out in front of them.

            “Derek,” Kate started, struggling to cover her naked body with the sheets. It looked like it was proving more difficult than she had initially thought, but that was mostly because Peter was laying on top of her, refusing to move. Derek stalked to his dresser and quieted her with a quick glance that Stiles swore could have single-handedly wiped out Pompeii. He was walking in a straight line, more or less, and Stiles commended him on that. He took a few things from his dresser and turned back towards the door.

            “Take me to Laura’s,” he growled as he pushed past Stiles.

            Derek wasn’t going to open his eyes. Ohhh, no; he had already done that once, and the blinding sun was enough to make him want to keep his eyes closed forever.

            A continuous tapping on his arm reminded him why he had woken up in the first place.

            “What,” he snapped.

            “Brought you some water,” Laura replied, still fucking tapping his arm. He tried to push her off the bed, but she stayed where she was, tapping her little heart out. Finally, Derek opened one eye the smallest amount and took the cup from his sister.

            “Why do I feel like shit?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

            “Well, probably because you had a shitty night,” his ever-helpful sister replied. He tried to remember everything that had happened. The only thing he actually remembered was the fact that his girlfriend was cheating on him. With his _uncle_. Derek cringed, wondering how long that had been going on. After he had left the room he had grabbed the mostly full bottle of Jack from the counter, climbed into Stiles jeep, and….

            “You gonna puke?” Laura asked, studying his face.

            “I don’t puke,” Derek said.

            “Au contraire,” Laura replied, “you did last night. A lot.” Derek groaned and rolled over, semi-curling around Laura’s back. She reached around and patted his arm.

            “That kid seems to like you,” she continued. “He was way worried about you last night. He slept on the couch. And set an alarm to wake up and check on you every 45 minutes.” Derek groaned again, rolling onto his back and covering his face with both of his hands.

“Is he still here?”

            “Nah,” Laura replied. “He left around five when he realized that you weren’t actually going to die.”

            “Did I seem like I was going to die?” asked Derek.

            “I don’t know. He forced me to go to sleep. Said he’d take care of it. You were drunk off your ass, but I didn’t think you were going to die.” She patted his arm and left the room, leaving him alone with the realization that Stiles _cared_ about him. He had known that the kid had a crush on him, but he didn’t realize to what extent it had gone. This was too much to handle. He needed to get away from all this shit for a while.

            “Where are you going?” Laura asked when Derek appeared from his room with a duffle bag half an hour later.

            “I need a break,” was his reply.

            “Dude, what are you doing on the couch?” Stiles _heard_ the voice and he understood that Scott was talking to him, but he was too tired to roll over or even open his eyes, so he just grunted. Scott, however, did not understand boundaries. He jumped over the back of the couch and landed not so gracefully on Stiles, who let out a grunt.

            “Get the fuck off me,” he whined. “I was up all night helping Derek not die and when I got home I couldn’t make it any further than this.”

            “Wait. _That’s_ where you were all night? _That’s_ why we had to take a cab home?” Scott questioned, scooting over and tucking Stiles’ feet behind his back.

            “Yeah, dude. I took him home and we walked in on Kate and Peter fucking and so I went—“

            “Kate as in Derek’s _girlfriend?_ And Peter as in our _boss?_ “

            “Yes, our boss and also Derek’s uncle. Would you let me finish?”

            “Ok, go ahead,” Scott said, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “Well, that’s pretty much it, I guess,” Stiles said, propping himself up on one elbow. “I took him to his sister’s house and made sure he stayed alive, cuz after the incident he mostly killed a bottle of Jack.”

            “What did he say when he woke up?” Was Scott actually _excited_?

            “I don’t know. I bailed before he woke up.” Stiles eyed the doughnut he realized Scott was holding, and his friend graciously held it out to him.

            “You look like you need it more than I do, man. Designated driver and you still get the short end of the stick.” Stiles could only moan happily in return, his fingers sticky with the remnants of the doughnut. He had somehow managed to shove the whole thing into his mouth, and he was working on swallowing it without choking when there was a knock on the door. Scott silently got up to answer it, and a moment later there was a swirl of red hair and loud voices.

            “Lydia. Allison.” Stiles greeted the girls in turn as the brunette sat on the edge of the couch, running a hand through Scott’s hair, and the redhead plopped down in the recliner across the room. “What’d you guys do last night?”

            “Well, we tried to track you guys down at the bar, but by the time we got there it was just Erica sloppy dancing all over Boyd,” Allison said, while Lydia—typical Lydia—pulled out a nail file.

            “Are they dating yet?” Scott asked, pulling Allison into his lap.

            “Probably not since she came home with me last night,” Lydia said nonchalantly, not looking up from her nails.

            “No way!” Stiles yelled, stretching across the living room for a high five. Lydia rolled her eyes, but smiled smugly as she high fived him.

            “Let’s just say it was a long night,” Lydia said, smirking as Allison’s mouth popped into an O shape.

            “Tell me about it,” Stiles began. “Derek caught Kate cheating on him last night and then almost drank himself to death.”

            Allison sat up a little straighter while Stiles talked. “Wait, like Derek and Kate who live in that giant house? The one you guys are renovating?” She asked.

            “Yeah. Well, _were_ renovating,” Stiles said.

            “She’s my aunt.” Allison said it bluntly, like she expected the reaction that was going to follow.

            “ _What_.” Stiles shot up into a sitting position, looking at Scott, “Why didn’t you tell me, dude?”

            Scott shrugged. “I honestly forgot.”

            “I don’t talk about her much,” Allison said. “She hasn’t exactly been a favorite name in our family.”

            “See, dude, you’re much better suited for Derek,” Scott said, grinning his goofy puppy dog grin. That son of a bitch.

            “Wait, you like this guy?” Lydia asked. Stiles nodded. “Wow, you haven’t been serious about anyone since your big crush on me,” she said. Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, she added, “I’m glad that era is finally over.” He stuck his tongue out instead.

            Derek was surprised to see a car in the driveway of the lake house.

            “Hello?” he called as he opened the front door. He turned a corner and bumped into something—someone. Someone who was holding a bat.

            “Jesus Christ, Der!” the bat wielder practically shouted. Derek took a step back and realized he was looking at his sister Cora, who was currently clutching her heart.

            “I thought you were home?” he asked.

            “Yeah, I was. I mean, I am. I just needed a little break.”

            “I thought home was a break from South America?” Derek asked, gingerly taking the bat from her hands and setting it down.

            “What are you doing here?” Cora asked, ignoring his question.

            “I, uh, Kate and I broke up. Sort of.”

            “Sort of?” she asked, guiding him to the couch. He let her do it.

            “Well yeah. I caught her cheating on me last night. With Peter.”

            “ _Uncle_ Peter?” she asked, formerly-skeptical eyes growing wide. He nodded and tried to piece the story together as best as he could for her.

            “So you like this kid?” Cora asked when he finished speaking.

            “Yeah. Well, I don’t know, he’s a cool guy.” Derek was having trouble putting together exactly how he felt for this kid.

            “‘A cool guy,’” Cora mocked. “Damn, Der, when’s the wedding?” He smiled and shoved her lightly.

            “Shut up. Kate and I haven’t even officially broken up yet,” he said, holding up his hand before Cora could say _so?_ “Also, I don’t even know if he likes me. Maybe he was just being nice.”

            “Yeah right,” Cora scoffed. “ This kid is totally enamored. You should talk to him.” Instead of answering, Derek walked to the window, watching the sun slowly set over the lake. Maybe he would talk to Stiles. For right now, though, he was going to take some time to relax and not worry about cheating girlfriends and douchebag uncles and ridiculously attractive twenty-something’s.


	3. Chapter 3

            Derek was drunk. Again. He realized that in the two and a half months since he had told Kate to move out, he had been drunk a lot.

            _Oh well,_ he thought, pouring more rum into his already-strong rum and coke.

            “Would you like some coke with that rum, Derek?” he asked himself aloud, eyes searching the empty house. It really was too big for only him. But he had bought this house, and there was no way in hell that he would have let Kate take it. Or stay. He had heard that she skipped town. Peter had stayed for a few days, trying to find some work to do before also presumably skipping town. The trouble with that, though, is that all his workers quit on account of being friends with Stiles. _And me_ , Derek thought, realizing that at one point they had also been his friends. But that point had passed, and he had not spoken to them in months.

            He woke up to a knock on the door. Getting up groggily, he wondered when he had fallen asleep. The knocking persisted, and Derek almost yelled at the knocker to go away. Almost. Ginny, who was thankfully living with him again, bounded around his feet, tail wagging at the idea of visitors.

            He opened the door to a window.

            “Trick or treat!” said the window, turning and moving towards the open door, revealing that there was, in fact, a person carrying the window. And that person was Stiles.

            “It’s November,” Derek growled.

            “I’m here to replace that window I broke!” Stiles said happily, swinging the window back and forth. Derek clutched his head with one hand.

            “Peter left,” he growled. “After you all quit, he left. You don’t work for him anymore.”

            “Oh, I know,” Stiles said, setting the window down by his feet, “but I broke your window and promised to replace it. So I will.”

            Derek nodded slowly and said, “Beer.”

            “Huh?” Stiles grunted, halfway to the basement stairs.

            “There’s beer in the fridge. Uh, if you want any.” Stiles nodded, a corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

            An hour later, Stiles was chugging his second beer. Derek supposed that Stiles wanted to catch up to where he thought Derek was, but the truth was, Derek was only barely buzzing anymore.

           

            Another hour later, Stiles was laying on the floor, playing with Ginny while Derek watched from the couch.

            “You must be a good master,” he said, clearly not considering what he had just said. Derek gave him a minute. “Oh. Oh god,” Stiles said, flushing red. “I meant she’s well trained. Jesus. She just really loves you.” Stiles was sitting up now, bright red from his cheeks to his ears. Derek was laughing, and without thinking, he leaned down and kissed Stiles. The boy’s arms flailed for a moment before going still. Derek was about to pull back, wondering if he had made a mistake, when one of Stiles’ hands snaked up Derek’s chest, while the other clutched the fabric by his waist.

            “You’re bi?” Stiles asked bluntly, pulling back. “Or are…oh. You’re just drunk. This is a drunk thing, right?” He pulled back from Derek, who tightened his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck.

            “I’m not drunk, Stiles,” he said, studying the other man’s face. Stiles’ expression didn’t change for a moment, and Derek barely let out a breath. Finally, Stiles grinned and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him to the ground.

            Ginny could have stood up and started to sing an entire opera, but the men wouldn’t have noticed. Stiles groaned as Derek’s hands roamed his torso and made their way back to his face. The man gently placed his hands on each side of Stiles’ face, planting little kisses along the curve of his mouth. Stiles struggled to kiss Derek more deeply than he already was. He could feel the man smile into the kiss, before letting out what was halfway between a moan and a growl, sucking Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly. Stiles could feel himself moaning, much louder than Derek had been, and he knew he should be embarrassed to be making such wrecked sounds, but it only seemed to fuel Derek’s desire.

            At some point, his phone started buzzing. Stiles groaned, apologetically untangling himself from Derek and lunging for his phone.

            “What?” he growled into the phone, very Derek-esque.

            “Whoa, what’s up your butt?” Lydia said from the other side of the line.

            “I’m busy,” Stiles sighed, passing a hand over his face and trying to control his very ragged breathing.

            “With _what_?” she asked. Stiles rolled his eyes at her tone, which was half skeptical, half curious. But mostly skeptical. Damn her.

            “I don’t know, Lydia. Stuff. Things.” The answer was weak and Stiles knew it. Derek apparently did, too, because he snorted from the floor.

            “Who was that?” Lydia asked quickly. Stiles flapped his hand at Derek. “Are you with someone? Who is it?”

            “No one,” Stiles said, eyes sliding to Derek, who was snorting again. The man saw Stiles’ eyes travel across his body and let out a low growl, pulling Stiles back to the floor and unapologetically sucking on his neck.

            “Oh my god,” Lydia hissed.

            “What?” Stiles’ question came out more as a whine, due to the fact that Derek had sucked an earlobe between his teeth.

            “Nothing. Oh my God. Okay. Bye.” Her voice sounded strange, and as she hung up Stiles heard her let out something that resembled a loud laugh. He stared at the screen for a few moments after the screen went black.

            “She definitely knows,” Derek said, sitting up next to Stiles.

            “She—what? How do you know that?” Stiles asked.

            “Trust me,” Derek replied, smiling and dragging Stiles back into him. Stiles pulled back slightly.

            “Is that going to be a problem?” he asked, watching Derek’s face carefully. Derek knit his brows together, cocking his head to the side. It was almost comical, if Stiles hadn’t been so worried about the man’s reply.

            “I don’t know,” Derek started. When he saw Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up, he quickly added, “No. I mean, no. It’s just new, that’s all. And Kate and I only broke up three months ago.” He sighed. His words weren’t coming out right. “I just want to take things slow.” Stiles nodded slowly and Derek started talking again, fast. “Wait, do you even want this? Or is this…?”

            Stiles laughed. “Derek, calm down. You sound like me without my adderall. This is not a one night stand, don’t worry. I thought I made it pretty clear how I felt about you.

            “Okay,” Derek said softly, smiling. Stiles was about to kiss him when his phone buzzed again. He groaned after a moment and handed the phone to Derek, open to a text from Laura (who apparently had Lydia’s number now). _Ask Derek if he wants to have dinner tomorrow,_ and then, a minute later, _You’re invited, too, Mowgli._

            “So,” Stiles said, breaking the most awkward silence he had ever experienced. Derek and his sister both cocked their heads in his direction. With a frustrated sigh he said, “I, um. I got nothing.” The three of them were in the living room of Laura’s house, sitting uncomfortably. Derek knew this was going to be awkward, but he didn’t imagine it being _this_ awkward. Just as he was pondering this, there was a knock at the door.

            “Are you expecting someone?” Derek asked when Laura looked visibly relieved.

            “I invited a couple of your friends,” she replied, opening the door to reveal Lydia, Scott, and Allison.

            “Oh, thank God,” Stiles breathed beside him. Derek, however, was not as relieved. They had to know about Derek and Stiles’ night last night. There was no way that Lydia had kept her mouth shut for this long. Sure enough, Scott eyed Derek as he walked past to sit on a chair across the room. Derek didn’t want them to hate him, or to think that he was leading Stiles on. This was happening extremely fast, and Derek was starting to freak out.

            “So how was your sex?” Lydia asked, causing Stiles to do an honest to god spit take.

            “I--we--we didn’t have sex,” Derek said, wondering if the phrasing could be any less embarrassing.

            “Scared of taking our little Stiles’ innocence? Cuz trust me, he’s _not_ innocent.” Derek stared at Lydia, wide-eyed as Scott pitched in. “You didn’t even have to live with him in college. Apartment walls are too thin.”

            Okay. So they didn’t hate him? They didn’t think that he was a bad influence on Stiles? Derek relaxed a little bit. Stiles, however, was flushing bright red next to Derek.

 

            How did he always end up here? _Tomorrow I stop drinking,_ Derek said to himself, even though he knew it wasn’t true. Laura had served wine at dinner, and afterwards Allison had suggested playing a board game. That had somehow turned into Candy Land: the Drinking Game.

            “Enough with the gumdrop forest,” Stiles slurred, pulling a card from the deck. “OH! Queen Frostine! I win!”

            “No you don’t,” Derek said, reaching for the bottle of wine. They had abandoned glasses a while ago and now resorted to swigging from the bottle.

            “Queen Frostine was always my favorite,” Allison said dreamily, lifting her head up from Lydia’s lap.

            “Okay, but I _almost_ win,” Stiles retorted, looking upset. “Queen Frostine was a lot closer to the candy castle when I was six.”

            Derek was amazed that a game of Candy Land could last as long as it did. He stood up, gathering his bearings before venturing into the kitchen. He grabbed another bottle of wine (was this their fifth? Why did Laura even have this much wine?) and turned around to return to the living room, only to find himself alone in the kitchen with Scott. The man was unsmiling, moving his crooked jaw from side to side.

            “Are you here to give me a ‘don’t hurt my best friend’ speech?” Derek asked. Scott opened his mouth to say something but Derek cut him off. “Because I won’t. At least, I don’t plan on it. I like him, which, yeah...is unexpected. And I don’t know where this is going, if it’s even going anywhere. But I promise to be a responsible adult and not hurt him.”

            Scott paused before saying, “I was just going to warn you that Pretty Pretty Princess was also a favorite game of Stiles’ when he was six,” He smirked. Derek was caught off guard.

            “Oh. Um, thanks. I don’t think Laura has that one,” he said.

            “Oh, she does. But don’t worry, I hid it,” Scott replied. Derek let the corner of his mouth tip up and he nodded at Scott. Scott gave him a goofy grin in reply and took the wine bottle from his hand, taking it into the living room. Derek stayed in the kitchen for a moment, listening to the sounds coming from the living room. Before he went back, he heard the sound of glass shattering and Laura’s muffled _shit_.

            “OPA!” Allison yelled as he walked into the room. Her head was still resting on Lydia’s lap and her eyes were closed. The room grew quiet for a second before it was full of laughter. Derek listened fondly as Stiles let out his signature laugh, slapping his thighs and stomping his feet.

            Their first time was awkward, to say the least. There had been bruises and a possible concussion and they had honest to god argued about who would top for ten minutes. But when they finally got situated, it was _good_. Stiles had come within forty seconds of Derek entering him, but it was good. And it felt _right_. If it had been anyone else, Stiles would have been mortified. But with Derek, it felt absolutely perfect—as cheesy as that sounded.

            Afterward, they lay in bed together, talking softly. Stiles wasn’t surprised when Derek had rolled to face away from Stiles, pressing his body against his chest. Stiles had totally called that Derek was a little spoon _months_ ago.

            “Hey,” Stiles said, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Tomorrow will be one month since our first kiss.”

            “I’m surprised you had enough patience to wait a month for sex,” Derek replied sleepily.

            “I was fine,” Stiles said. When Derek raised his eyebrows, he protested, “I was! Little Stiles was a bit eager though, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Derek scoffed and turned his face away from Stiles.

            “Are we, like, a couple?” Stiles asked. Derek was quiet for a minute.

            “Well, we go on dates, hang out with my sister, and we just had sex. I would say that we might be a couple.” Stiles grinned at his _boyfriend’s_ words.

            “So I get to call you, like, honey?” he asked. Derek groaned. “No? Sweetie pie? Cutie…face?”

            “No.” Derek growled.

            “Aw come on babe, not even babe?”

            “Occasionally. Like your birthday.”

            Stiles smiled and rolled his eyes, “Got it. My birthday. Goodnight, sugar lips.”

            As they were drifting off into blissful, naked, sleep, Stiles muttered, “Guess you’ll have to meet my dad.”

            What was it about Stiles that made Derek so nervous? He was messing with the buttons on his shirt when his phone buzzed. It was from Stiles. _Be there in 5_. And then, a few seconds later, _Stop nervously messing with whatever you’re messing with_. Derek immediately let go of the button, wondering how Stiles already knew him so well.

            Five minutes later a police cruiser pulled into his driveway. Derek opened the door curiously, wondering what would bring the police to his house. Whatever it was, he didn’t have time for it. He had a dinner date.

            “Stop! You’re under arrest!” Stiles called, stepping out of the car. Derek sighed and walked towards the car.

            “On what charges, sir?” he asked mockingly.

            “On the charges of being way too incredibly handsome,” Stiles replied, standing up and pulling Derek into him. “Hi.” He smiled into the kiss that Derek planted on his lips.

            “Hi,” Derek said back, slinging an arm around Stiles’ neck and pulling him in close. They stood there for a moment, foreheads touching.

            “Stiles?” Derek asked softly. Stiles let out a soft _mhm?_ “What’s with the sheriff cruiser?”

            Stiles laughed, turning to look at the cruiser as if he had forgotten it was there. “I wanted to scare you a little bit. Make you think you were in trouble.” Derek shoved his arm lightly and held the door open.

            “Aren’t I supposed to be the one to hold _your_ door open?” Stiles asked with a smile. Derek sighed and put his hand on the top of his boyfriend’s head, pushing him down and into the car.

            “So, Darren,” Sheriff Stilinski said, passing the bowl of mashed potatoes to his son who groaned.

            “Dad, you know what his name is. Stop trying to scare him.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stilinski said, cocking his head to the side. “So, Derek. What do you do for a living?”

            “I work at the nursing home, sir,” Derek replied, moving his food around with his fork.

            “Oh yeah? Do you know Angela Abrams? She’s an old friend of mine. And There’s no need to call me ‘sir.’” Derek nodded once, and then shook his head when Stiles offered him more wine. There was an evil gleam in that kid’s eyes, and Derek was going to make him pay for it later. Stiles was trying to get him drunk and he knew it. _Joke’s on him,_ Derek thought. _I stopped drinking_. Okay, maybe not completely, but he was working on it. He took another sip of his wine.

            “I do know her,” he said, giving the Sheriff his best winning smile.

            After dinner, Derek helped the Sheriff wash the dishes while Stiles sat on the counter monitoring his father’s behavior.

            “So, Sheriff,” Derek began, “how long have you lived in Beacon Hills?” He watched as the man put down the plate he was drying and thought for a moment.

            “Well, let’s see here,” he said. “Claudia and I moved here before Stiles was born, so it must have been, ’86? Probably around ’86.” Derek nodded and continued washing dishes. He assumed that Claudia was Stiles’ mom. He knew it was a tough subject.

            “Derek?” the Sheriff asked. Derek looked at him expectantly. “You _really_ don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

           

            “See, that wasn’t that bad,” Stiles said, rubbing Derek’s jawline with a thumb. They were standing in Stiles’ room, which looked like it was still lived in by a high school boy. A messy high school boy.

            “So this is your room?” Derek said, ignoring Stiles’ previous comment.

            “Yup, this is where all the magic happened.” Derek snorted, seriously doubting that. But he went along with it.

            “Ah. So this bed must have seen a lot of action. Too much action. Probably couldn’t handle more.” Stiles opened his mouth and then closed it again.

            “Well…not _too_ much. I’m sure it would be ok if it saw a little bit more action.”

            Derek smirked, but then said, “Your dad will realize what’s going on if we’re gone for more than a couple minutes.”

            “I guarantee if you go out there right now he’ll be asleep in the recliner with some old movie on DVR.” Derek raised his eyebrow and peaked his head out of the doorway. Sure enough, Michael J. Fox was on screen and the Sheriff was snoring. When he came back into the room, Stiles was looking smug with his arms crossed over his chest.

            “Told ya so. What’s he watching tonight?”

             “That Teen Wolf movie with Michael J. Fox,” Derek replied.

             “Ah, one of his favorites. I personally think it’s dumb, but—“ he was cut off by Derek crossing the room and kissing him, hard. Stiles moaned into the kiss and walked them back until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He lowered Stiles down first, and hovered over top of him. It had been two weeks since they had sex for the first time, and they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other since.

            “I think this is going to beat the bathroom sex,” Stiles grumbled into Derek’s lips. Derek smiled and sunk his teeth gently into the sensitive flesh of Stiles’ neck. This made the boy let out a loud whimper, and Derek quickly covered his mouth with a hand. Stiles, being the mature adult he was, licked Derek’s hand until he released Stiles’ mouth.

            “Off,” Derek mumbled, tugging at the fabric of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles obeyed immediately, and it wasn’t long before Derek was sucking a nipple into his mouth, flicking the pert tip with his tongue. He continued his kisses down Stiles’ stomach, pausing just above the top of Stiles’ jeans and licking just below the fabric of Stiles’ boxers.

            “Ungh, fuck,” Stiles moaned quietly above him. Derek looked up and placed a teasing finger to his lips before slowly unbuttoning Stiles’ pants. Stiles, however, was not happy about the speed at which things were moving, and he almost kicked Derek in the face trying to get his jeans off. Derek palmed Stiles through his boxers, even taking it a step forward and sucking the fabric into his mouth, leaving a wet spot. Stiles grabbed a handful of Derek’s hair and pulled, signaling him to get on with it. Derek grinned and pulled the man’s boxers down, holding his cock to prevent it from slapping against his stomach. He placed teasing kisses along Stiles’ thigh, grinning when the younger man all but shoved his dick into his face. Finally, he sucked Stiles’ balls into his mouth, rolling them around on his tongue and causing Stiles to moan.

            “If you’re not quiet, I’m gonna have to stop,” Derek whispered. Stiles nodded dumbly but a moment later he practically yelled when Derek took his entire cock into his mouth with no warning. Derek hummed around him, causing Stiles to throw his head back into the pillows. His slender fingers soon found purchase in Derek’s hair, pulling lightly and urging Derek to _keep going oh my god_.

            When Derek suddenly stopped before Stiles could climax, the man whimpered in protest.

            “Shh,” Derek said, stroking his own dick lazily, “I know high school Stiles had at _least_ one bottle of lube. Any chance it’s still here?” Stiles nodded vigorously and twisted to reach the drawer on his bedside table.

            He urged Stiles to lay back as he popped the cap and slicked up his fingers. Then, he ran two slick fingers in slow, gentle circles around the younger man’s rim. Stiles shifted, but made no noise. As much as Derek knew they needed to be quiet, he couldn’t help but push a finger in, just a little bit, to see--or better yet, hear--Stiles’ reaction. The boy whimpered and threw his head back into the pillow with a muted thud. Derek smirked and slid his finger in deeper, adding a second and scissoring them to stretch the younger man out.

            Finally, Derek pushed himself up so he and Stiles were face to face. He waited for a moment, raising his eyebrows at the man.

            “Do it, dude,” Stiles said. That stupid sentence was all Derek needed. He pushed into the boy slowly, giving him time to adjust before pulling out again just as slowly. He groaned loud enough for Stiles to slap a hand over his mouth. This made him push back into Stiles relentlessly, causing the boy to whimper loudly. Derek put his own hand over Stiles’ mouth, and fucked into him. Both men were groaning into each other’s hands as Derek thrust faster and harder. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. There was something about fucking his boyfriend in his childhood bedroom, hands held tight over each other’s mouths as his dad slept two rooms away. Stiles bit down on his hand, causing him to come instantly. All but collapsing on Stiles, Derek tried to even his breathing.

            “Holy fuck,” Stiles whispered, removing his hand from Derek’s mouth. Derek could only nod and pull his boyfriend into his arms. rolling them onto their sides.

            When he finally pulled out and convinced Stiles to get dressed, he heaved a sigh of relief. Tonight hadn’t gone as badly as he had thought. This was going to be okay.

            The Sheriff eyed them as they said their goodbyes.

            Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder blade. “Mffmbt,” he grumbled into the pillow.

            “I made you breakfast,” the husky voice above him said.

            Stiles’ eloquent response was, “No.”

            “No?” Derek asked, and Stiles’ waking brain was sure his boyfriend’s brows were furrowed in confusion. He managed to flip over, blinking at his boyfriend.

            “Why?” He wasn’t awake enough for more than one word sentences.

            “It’s our anniversary.” Derek’s voice was clipped, like he knew what was coming next.

            Stiles’ eyes popped open and he quickly propped himself up. His grin wiped away any sleepiness left.

            “ _Our anniversary!”_ he cried, “Look at you! Making me breakfast in bed because it’s _our anniversary_.”

            Derek stood up wordlessly and walked towards the door, full tray in hand.

            “No, wait, no, Derek! No!” Stiles yelled as Derek turned the corner. “I was kidding! It’s sweet! Baby! Baby, come back! Darling Derek! Sweetheart!” Stiles counted to five in his head and smirked when the muscular man appeared in the doorway and crossed the room in mere steps, pinning Stiles to the bed.

            “What. Did. I. Say. About. Sweetheart?” Derek asked menacingly, but his lips were kissing Stiles’ neck between growled words.

            “‘No Sweetheart.’ But it’s cute!” Stiles knew he was pushing his limits, but doing so usually resulted in rough sex.

            “No,” Derek said, pulling back. “I know what you want and no. You are going to eat the breakfast I cooked you, God damnit, and be grateful I haven’t killed your skinny ass in the last six months.” He shoved the tray of food at Stiles, nearly overturning the glass of orange juice. Stiles didn’t need to be asked twice.

            He was in the process of shoving a full egg sandwich in his mouth when Derek grumbled, “You’re so lucky I love you.”

            Stiles froze, the runny part of his egg running down his chin. “What?” He asked, mouth full.

            “I love you,” Derek said simply. Like, _duh_.

            “I--oh my god, I’m sorry I thought I would be the one to say it first--I love you too, Der.” Derek groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed.

            “That was so cliché.”

            “Yeah, it kind of was,” Stiles replied, reaching up to ruffle Derek’s hair. The man carefully lifted the tray off Stiles’ stomach and placed it on the floor. His next motion—pushing Stiles into the bed—was not as gentle.

            “You love me,” Stiles panted between kisses.

            “I do,” Derek answered, biting into Stiles’ shoulder.

            “And I love you.”

            “You better.”

            “And you’re going to fuck me into the mattress, now.”

            “I am.”

            “So you guys are good?” Lydia asked, happily settling into her favorite armchair in Scott and Stiles’ apartment.

            “Yeah, like really good, Lyd. Like I can see a future with this guy.” Stiles smiled dreamily, but snapped out of it quickly. “Now tell me about you and Erica,” he said, smirking.

            “There’s not really much to tell,” She replied, running her hand along Frodo’s back. The cat was purring like a tiny engine. Stiles could swear that he liked Lydia more than he liked Stiles. Stiles raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay, okay. She and Boyd broke up. That’s all. We’ve hooked up a few times but we haven’t actually talked about anything. Have you seen her flirting with Derek’s sister whenever she’s around? It’s annoying.”

            “Lydia, the girl is totally taken by you. You have nothing to worry about.” Lydia smiled but didn’t look up. “I promise!” Stiles insisted. “You guys are perfect together. Just like me and Derek.”

            Lydia tossed a pillow in his direction.


	4. Chapter 4

            “Oh, shit. Fuck.” The sounds were coming from outside the door. Derek leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter and listened to his boyfriend’s disgruntled sounds outside. The cursing was slowly coming closer.

            “God damnit, Derek, where are you when I need you, you lazy asshole,” Stiles said, presumably to himself, from right outside the door.

            “The window is open, babe,” Derek said. Stiles yelped and Derek heard a clattering of various things.

            “Lazy _and_ rude,” Stiles grumbled as he shoved the garage door open. “Do you want to help me with this shit?”

            Derek grinned and pulled the door open further, revealing a pile of Stiles’ things. He grabbed a duffle bag and casually held his hands out for more.

            “Don’t brag, strong man, or else I’ll commission you to bring my things in _everytime_ I stay over.”

            “You might as well just leave it here,” Derek replied over his shoulder as he carried Stiles’ things to his room.

            “I already have so much stuff here, though, it might as well be my house, too,” Stiles grunted as he pulled a second bag into the room.

            “You’re right; it may as well be.”

            Stiles stopped suddenly. “What?”

            “Stiles,” Derek said slowly, putting the duffle bag on the bed and walking up to his boyfriend, placing his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “Would you like to move in with me?” Stiles opened his mouth and closed it. “You don’t have to,” Derek added quickly.

            “No, Jesus Christ, Derek. You need to stop springing this stuff on me like this. Can we sit down sometime and have a real adult discussion?”

            “So that’s a no?” Derek took a step back.

            “God, no! I mean, yes! Derek I will move in with you. Of course I will.”

            Derek smiled and pulled Stiles back into his body. Stiles broke the kiss after a second and pointed to the wall. “So I’m thinking my dildo collection can go there.”

            Derek shoved him onto the bed.

            Derek emerged at the bottom of the basement steps to a scene that Stiles wasn’t very proud of. He tried to speak over the music but Stiles simply pointed at his ears and shrugged, so Derek wordlessly pointed at the commotion in the living room.

First of all, Stiles would have explained, no matter what state of intoxication they were in, there was always trouble when someone brought the Twister mat out. Second of all, strip twister was not his idea (although he had not exactly protested, either).

            Lydia was pouting on the couch, a cardigan held over her naked body with crossed arms. Allison was crouched artfully, one leg stretched to reach the blue circle. She was sporting a thong and nothing else. Erica was in her underwear, as well as still wearing a bra, but she was bent so that her ass was practically in Allison’s lap (which is why Lydia was pouting, Stiles would have also explained, had Derek been able to hear him). Scott, on the other hand, was completely naked, and bent in a very compromising position.

            Stiles watched as his boyfriend made his way across the room, artfully dodging Scott’s ass, which was raised high in the air. As he approached, Derek raised an eyebrow in question.

            “I can explain,” Stiles began. Somehow, Derek managed to raise his eyebrow further. “Okay. I can’t really. They came over to welcome me to my new house and things got out of hand. I’m sorry. I hope that’s okay.”

            Stiles watched as Derek glanced around him, noticing the many, _many_ empty bottles of various alcoholic drinks.

            “Stiles, this is your house, now, too. While I would rather not see McCall’s ass without notice every time I walked in the door, you _are_ allowed to invite your friends over.”

            Stiles grinned, visibly relieved. “In that case,” he said, “you have some catching up to do.”

            While Stiles understood that Derek thought he got drunk too often, he couldn’t help but love drunk Derek.

            “This _seriously_ needs to stop happening,” Derek slurred, leaning into Stiles’ side.

            “Oh, but why?” Stiles asked innocently. “I love it.”

            Derek tried to push him but ended up falling into his lap. Which would have been fine except for the fact that Stiles was in nothing but boxers. Practically pushing Derek from his slowly hardening dick, Stiles fumbled for a pillow.

            “I saw that,” Lydia said from the couch. She was sitting with her legs crossed and elbows on her knees, her hands seemed to be the only thing keeping her head from drooping completely. She was _trashed_ ; how the hell did she see that?

            “Yeah, well, he’s too drunk to do anything with, anyways.”

            “Hey!” Derek exclaimed. “I am not. I will fuck you right now!” Stiles smirked and looked back towards Lydia, who had fallen asleep with her face in her hands.

            “No, you won’t, love,” Stiles said, smiling fondly back at Derek. He looked across the room where Laura and Scott were having some sort of a dance battle. Laura shook her hair out of her face, glancing over at Stiles and Derek. Smiling playfully, she wiggled her finger at Stiles, in a ‘come here’ fashion. Erection thankfully gone, he grinned and walked slowly over to Laura and Scott.

            Laura immediately grabbed his hands and began leading him in some weird half-waltz, half-jive that he had trouble keeping up with in his state of intoxication.

            “Is that the window? The one you installed after you broke the first one?” she asked, pointing to what was, indeed, _the_ window.

            “You know about the window?” Stiles asked, cocking his head to the side before adding, “and thank you for reminding me of the most embarrassing moment of my life.”             

“Of course I know about the window, Bambi! Derek called it your--” she paused and looked over to the couch where Derek was lazily rocking back and forth with what Stiles assumed to be the spins, “What did you call that window, Der?”

            “The love window,” he replied instantly. Stiles snorted at his boyfriend before turning back to Laura.

            “Take a walk with me?” she asked, holding out her hand.

            The pair stumbled down the middle of the street, nearing the cul-de-sac at the end of the neighborhood. Laura let go of Stiles’ hand and took a zigzagged run into the center. By the time he made it to her, she was laying down.

            “We’ll get hit by a car,” Stiles said stupidly when she held her hand up to him.

            “Stiles, everyone in this neighborhood is in bed before ten. Face it, buddy, you’re living the domestic life.”

            As soon as Stiles settled beside her, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

            “You know, I always wanted Derek to find someone like you,” she said softly, sounding more sober than she was. Stiles looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “I never liked Kate, and I never really understood what he saw in her. But right away I knew I liked you.”

            “You did?” Stiles asked uncertainty.

            “Oh, Bambi. The first time we were together after you and Der started dating, you were so nervous that you could hardly be yourself. At one point, I left the room, and when I came back, you were playing with Ginny and Derek was just _staring_ at you with this look I had never seen before. I could tell right then how much you meant to him.”

            Stiles smiled fondly, reaching down to hold Laura’s hand.

            “You’re a good sister, you know,” he said.

            “Thanks. Sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. I wish I would have warned him against Kate. He had just been so lonely for so long that I kept hoping she wasn’t actual the evil, backstabbing, bitchy, manipulative—sorry. You get it. I’m just glad that I can redeem myself a little.”

            As Stiles opened his mouth to talk, he heard a noise to his left.

            “Laura,” he began, “I don’t wanna scare you, but I think there’s someth—” As he was nearing the end of his sentence, the _something_ jumped out of a bush, screaming. Stiles and Laura both screamed and tried to get up, but in their drunkenness, ended up getting their legs tangled in each other.

            Cora, on the other hand, was on the ground by the bush, practically rolling around with laughter.

            “Jesus CHRIST, Cora! I thought you were a werewolf or something!” Stiles yelled, running a hand through his hair. This only made Cora laugh harder.

            “Stiles. Werewolves are for Halloween and campy tv shows. Besides, I’m _much_ scarier than a werewolf. Let’s go inside, you two. Derek’s practically in tears asking everyone where you are.”

            Laura and Stiles exchanged a look before following Cora back to the house.

             Derek awoke with a start, as he usually did when hung over. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he crawled out of bed slowly, so as not to wake his slumbering boyfriend, who probably wouldn’t have woken up to a fire truck passing through the room.

            He had never been a late sleeper, and drinking wasn’t an exception. Stiles moving in had been a culture shock—Derek was up and at ‘em while Stiles could barely open his eyes. Derek now knew not to bother trying to get Stiles up until at least eleven. At the earliest.

            Derek almost tripped over Isaac’s sleeping body as he stepped into the hallway. He could hear Ginny whining from outside.

            “Someone will kill her if you let her in,” Laura whispered from the couch when he entered the living room.

            “Yeah, I think I’m going to get some donuts. I’ll take her,” Derek replied. Laura nodded and stretched sleepily. Erica and Lydia were curled up together—somehow—in the armchair in the corner, and Derek assumed that Scott and Allison were downstairs. The question was, where was Cora?

            He found his answer when he opened the front door and found her asleep on the wicker couch on the porch. He shook his head, before realizing how badly his head actually hurt. Trying not to move too much, he called Ginny over and she bounded into his truck.

            He heard her voice as he was paying for the donuts. _Shit_ , Derek thought, turning to see Kate standing behind him, tapping her fingernails against her crossed arms.

            “It’s been a while, Der,” she purred, smiling a fake-sweet smile.

            “Kate,” he said, nodding and turning back to the cashier. He felt her stepping closer to his body.

            “You deleted your Facebook,” she said in the same voice. “I can’t keep up with your life anymore.”

            Derek willed himself to stay silent. He knew getting into an argument was exactly what she loved; she was a master of manipulation.

            “I didn’t expect you to be back in town so soon,” he ended up saying. “Peter get sick of you that quickly?” Well, he tried.

            Her face dropped for a split second before she widened her smile.

            “I was thinking maybe we could go out for coffee? Old times sake?”

            Derek sighed, “I’m seeing someone, actually.”

            “Oh? Who’s the lucky girl? Mrs. Peterson from the home?”

            “Actually, It’s Stiles. One of the workers that your boyfriend—former boyfriend?—hired to fix up _my_ house.” Derek tried to slink past her, but she put her hand on the counter behind him, blocking his exit.

            “You’re fucking some little twink?” she asked, voice lowered to a menacing growl. “That’s pathetic. But I bet I could show him a thing or two,” she slid her hand down his abs, towards his belt. Derek shook her off quickly and dodged her attempt to corner him again.

            He left without the donuts.

           

            It took him the entire drive home to stop shaking. When he got back to the house, he had mostly calmed down.

            “I heard there were going to be donuts,” Scott said hopefully upon Derek’s entry.

            “Sorry,” Derek shrugged, “Ginny was really impatient so I took her to the dog park instead.” There were groans of disappointment from the couches, but when he looked at Laura, she was raising her eyebrows in question.

She cornered him a few minutes later.

            “Pretty quick trip to the dog park, huh?” she asked.

            “I ran into Kate,” Derek deadpanned. This left Laura somewhat speechless. “Yeah,” he replied. “She’s even more ruthless than before. It was actually kind of scary.”

            “Are you gonna tell Stiles?” She asked, tilting her head.

            Derek shook his head, “No, I don’t think there’s any need to.”

            In the following weeks, Derek started to change things around the house. Stiles usually helped with these little projects, even if he still wasn’t a master construction worker.

            “Why are we even doing this?” Stiles asked him one day as they were working on painting the front door.

            “Because,” Derek replied. Stiles snorted, so he added, “I want this to be _our_ house. Not _my_ house that you moved into.” Stiles was quiet for a little bit after that, but Derek caught him smiling to himself as he worked.

            A few weeks later, as they were working on the kitchen floor in a comfortable silence, Derek spoke up.

            “Don’t you want to do something other than construction? I mean, when we met you told me that you didn’t even want this job.”

            Stiles was quiet for a long time. “I used to want to be a writer,” he finally said. This took Derek by surprise.

            “You never told me that.”

            “Yeah, well, it was pretty far fetched. I actually applied for some jobs, like, right when we started dating. Before it got serious, or anything.” Stiles was biting his lip while he worked, which was one of the traits Derek loved about him, but this time he was biting a little too hard. Stiles must have noticed this, too, because a moment later he stopped and rubbed a thumb over his lip. Derek replaced Stiles’ thumb with his own, tracing it over his boyfriend’s soft lips, which were turning up into a smile.

            “I hope I’m not holding you back,” Derek said quietly, starting to pull his hand away. Stiles caught it and brought it back to his face, so that Derek was cupping his cheek.

            “Oh, no. You aren’t at all. If this is where I am for the rest of my life, I’ll be happy.”

            Derek smiled and leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend.

            Stiles was too excited to make Derek’s surprise party much of a surprise. In the days leading up to the party, he was bouncy and giddy and _excited_ and Derek eventually caught on.

            “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded one night, while the two of them were lying in bed.

            “Do what?” Stiles asked, honestly confused.

            “Stiles, you can pretend like nothing is happening, but you’ve been humming ‘Happy Birthday’ for a week.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles replied, turning over and facing away from Derek. Derek opened his mouth to say something else, but Stiles began rubbing his ass in slow circles into Derek’s naked crotch, and that shut him up pretty quickly.

            “SURPRISE!” they yelled as Derek opened the front door. Derek did his best at looking surprised, Stiles had to give him that, but it still made the group groan.

            “You told him, didn’t you?” Erica asked, scowling. Who knew she was that big on surprises, anyway? Stiles looked sheepish and his friends groaned again.

            “You idiot,” Boyd said, dropping into the nearest seat.

            “Oh, be nice,” Derek said, “I figured it out on my own. I hope you know that literally none of you are subtle.”

            That shut everyone up.

            Cake was served and everyone eventually returned to a festive mood.

            “Do we have any ice?” Scott asked later, approaching Stiles.

            “Shhhhh, Scotty, everyone _just_ stopped being mad at me,” Stiles said, grasping Scott’s shoulder.

            “Want me to run out and get it?” Allison asked.

            “Nah, I got it. Derek and I can always celebrate later,” Stiles said with a wink. Overhearing, Erica made a gagging noise.

           

            Stiles had to go around the side of the gas station and get his own ice, which was annoying in itself, and the flickering light didn’t make him any happier. He was digging around the cooler for the biggest bag of ice when he heard a cough behind him.

            He turned around to face a giant dude. “Did you need ice?” Stiles asked, a feeling of dread already settling in the pit of his stomach.

            “No.” The man said, not offering anything else. Stiles laughed nervously and started to back away, bumping into, of course, another hulking man.

            “Going somewhere, faggot?” The second man asked. Stiles sucked in a breath. Still, after all this time, the word cut like a knife.

            “Okay guys, I understand that you don’t accept my lifestyle, but you can at least be nice, I mean—” He was cut off by a swift punch to the jaw. Somehow, he remained standing--at least, until the second man clocked him with a second punch.

            _Please don’t do this; I need to get back to my boyfriend’s birthday party,_ was probably not what would have stopped these men, so Stiles remained silent, trying his best to defend himself against the relentless kicks and punches of two strangers.

            Eventually, the men nodded at each other and walked away, leaving Stiles with one last kick to the gut. Stiles lay on the ground, trying to remain conscious. He was aware that someone else had pulled into the parking lot, and he was grateful to hear them calling an ambulance. After that, words started to blend into each other and Stiles didn’t understand what the man and the gas station attendant were saying anymore. All he could do was focus on his blood mixing into the melting ice. He lay there silently as the cold, rose colored water seeped into his clothes, leaving something that he knew would never go away, no matter how many times he washed his clothes, his hands, his body. It would always be there.

 


	5. Chapter 5

            Derek didn’t remember dropping his cake. He distinctly remembered having it when the phone rang, but he had no recollection of where it went after that. It wasn’t until he hung up with the hospital—or maybe it was the police—that he noticed Allison quietly cleaning up his abandoned cake.

            “I—um—Stiles. Something happened to him. I have to go,” Derek managed to croak out to the group. Only a moment ago had the party hats and balloons seemed festive; now they felt out of place.

            “What happened, man? Let us come with you,” Boyd said, placing a hand on Derek’s arm. Derek’s eyes must have been wild—he felt as though he were looking everywhere at once, trying to figure out the best escape route.

            “At least let me drive you,” a voice piped up from the confused crowd. Turning around, Derek saw that it was Erica, who he hadn’t spoken to much and had generally written off as a bitch. He nodded dumbly.

            “Derek…” Scott said. Derek could hear the plea in his voice so he turned around once more.

            “I don’t know much. Apparently, um,” his voice caught for a moment, “apparently he was jumped, or mugged? Or something? They said he’s conscious, and they’re running some tests now. I promise I’ll call you when I know more.”

            Scott nodded slowly and let Allison pull him into her body. Derek knew that Stiles meant a lot to Scott, too, but right now it felt like this was happening to him and him alone. Erica ushered him gently out the door and he reminded himself to be nicer to her in the future

            Though he worked at a nursing home, Derek’s walk through the hospital was unbearable. Every machine beep or passing wheelchair made him wince. He actively avoided the rooms with open doors—he couldn’t stand to see patients strapped to beds and tubes and IVs without thinking that Stiles was going to be one of them. Thankfully, the nurse gave him no grief and she personally showed them to Stiles’ room. Derek didn’t make the connection to Scott, even when she said “I’m nurse McCall,” until she had walked away, leaving him standing dumbly outside the open door.

            Stiles was on the other side, reclined slightly in his hospital bed. An IV was peaking out from the sleeves of his giant hospital gown, and multicolor bruises adorned his face and neck. Derek suspected that they extended even further down his body. A small whimper involuntarily left his throat, and Stiles turned toward the noise.

            “Happy birthday,” were the first words out of his mouth. Derek had to stop himself from growling as he crossed the room in two large strides. He stopped at the side of the bed, his hands fluttering over his boyfriend’s body, but not touching.

            “Derek, please, I’m okay,” Stiles said, watching Derek’s wide eyes search every inch of his body. Derek still hadn’t said anything.

            “Derek,” Stiles said, slightly louder, a sob ripping through his chest. That’s when Derek finally touched him, finally pulled him in—albeit gently.

Stiles kept repeating “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” like a mantra.

            “You’re okay.” Derek pulled back, body shaking.

            “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Baby, I’m okay.” Stiles let his hands trace Derek’s face, running up into his hair and back down, one thumb lightly rubbing his bottom lip. Derek’s face scrunched up in anger as he pulled Stiles in and kissed him hard.

            “Ow, baby, you gotta…you gotta be careful—they got my mouth pretty good,” Stiles said into Derek’s lips, wincing. Derek immediately pulled back and studied his boyfriend again.

            “Who did this to you?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice down.

            “I don’t know, Der, they were giant dudes. They gave me no reason other than my being gay.”

            Derek turned around swiftly, lunging towards the sink. He stopped himself from hitting anything, and instead braced his hands on either side of the countertop, breathing heavily.

            “I’m going to kill them,” he whispered, turning back to Stiles. He nodded but Derek knew it was only for his benefit. Stiles may have an arsenal of verbal threats up his sleeve, but he was pacifistic at heart.

            Domestic Derek was getting _hella_ annoying.

            They had made Stiles stay overnight so his test results could be processed, which didn’t even matter cuz they still weren’t done when he was released the next day. His dad insisted on driving him home. He had fallen asleep with Derek rubbing circles into his palm. Stiles knew he wouldn’t have willingly left, but he assumed that his dad had somehow convinced him, because when he woke up the Sheriff was the one asleep in the chair next to his bed.

            When they arrived home, Derek was waiting on the porch with Ginny. He had announced that he had taken the next few weeks off of work and he was going to cater to _every single one_ of Stiles’ needs. At first it was a miracle. Derek cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner; Derek answering the phone, which basically rang consistently; Derek scrubbing the floor in bright yellow rubber gloves (Stiles was sad to say that even that turned him on). But eventually it got a little old. Stiles appreciated all the effort that Derek was putting into _literally everything_ —like, good god, he cut the crusts off Stiles’ PB&J—but he was treating Stiles like a china doll.

            It had been a month and a half and Derek still wasn’t letting Stiles help with their projects around the house.

            “Derek. You need to let me help,” Stiles said, coming into the bathroom, where Derek was in the middle of retiling. He sat back on his heels, but didn’t look at his boyfriend. Stiles could see a sigh pass through his body.

            “Derek come on. Let me at least, like, go to the store and pick something up!”

            “No,” Derek said immediately.

            “Derek,” Stiles fought back, “you’re not being a bad boyfriend by letting me out of your sight for five minutes.”

            “ _Yes_ , I am, Stiles. If I had been with you that night…” Derek didn’t finish his sentence.

            “There was nothing you could have done. You didn’t know that it was going to happen. Der, I’m okay.”

            “Maybe I’m not.” Derek’s answer was so heartbreakingly honest that Stiles almost had to take a physical step backward. But he stopped himself and steeled his jaw.

            “I got a job,” he said. Derek finally looked back, surprised. He opened his mouth to say something but Stiles stopped him. “It’s in Chicago, Der.”

            Derek looked surprised for half a second more before responding, “Are you gonna take it? You’re not gonna take it.”

            “What if I am?”

            “Stiles, you’re only saying that to be stubborn. Would you really expect me to leave everything behind to move to Chicago? For what?”

            Stiles stood open mouthed for a moment before quietly saying, “For me, Derek. I know your life here is all comfy-cozy and perfect but have you ever stopped to think that mine isn’t? That maybe I’m not happy with being unemployed and living off my boyfriend’s money?”

            “Stiles, I’ve _only_ thought about you!” Derek cried. “I’ve done everything for you for the last month and a half!”

            “I never asked you to,” Stiles said before walking out. He shut the door quietly behind him.

            Derek sat back on his haunches for a few moments, head reeling. He knew Stiles was on the other side of the door. They had had fights like this many times, and though Derek admitted that they were happening more often, he knew that Stiles was waiting for him on the other side of the door. He knew his boyfriend. There would be a flurry of kisses and _I’m sorry_ s and they would discuss the problem like adults.

            But, God, Chicago was a big one. Derek couldn’t expect Stiles to give up an opportunity like this, but Stiles also couldn’t expect Derek to drop—what exactly? Come to think of it, a lot of Derek’s life was centered on Stiles. Because of Stiles he had friends—he had a family. Maybe Chicago wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. If Stiles could leave his hometown and his best friends to pursue something he loved, Derek could manage to leave his sister and boring job. Thinking back, Derek realized he hadn’t even asked Stiles what the job was.

            He finally opened the door, knowing that Stiles would jump back and act like he hadn’t been waiting with his ear pressed against the door, breathing heavily.

            Except Stiles wasn’t on the other side of the door. Not this time. Derek made his way into the bedroom, where Stiles was standing over a half full bag, preoccupied by the phone in his hand. He was clutching it tightly, while his other hand dragged across his mouth, stretching his features before they snapped back into place.

            “What—what are you doing?” Derek asked, taking tentative steps towards the bed.

            “I think I’m gonna stay with Scott for a while.”

            “How long is a while?” Derek started to reach his hand toward Stiles, but stopped at the last minute, suspended in the air in front of their faces.

            “I’m going to Chicago, Derek,” Stiles said. Derek noticed that, although his voice was firm, his hands were shaking--long fingers twisting themselves into tight shapes.

            “I’ll come with you,” Derek said, “We’ll—we can start a new life.”

            Stiles shook his head and kept shaking it as he started to speak. “I know I told you that I’m happy here, but I’m not. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with you anymore. I need to start this new life alone.” He grabbed the half empty bag from the bed and pushed past Derek.

            “Stiles…” Derek said, trying to prevent his brimming tears from spilling over.

            “Someone will come get my stuff later,” Stiles responded, voice wavering.

            It took everything Stiles had not to go running back into the room to throw his arms around Derek. He knew he had to do this. He couldn’t go back now—that would just mean hurting Derek more in the future.

            He didn’t let himself cry until he was away from the house. He knew if he stayed in the driveway to cry, Derek would eventually come out, and if he cried and drove he would crash his jeep. So he pulled off into a dirt road a few miles away and only then did he let himself cry. At some point his throat started to hurt, and he realized he had been practically screaming. He crawled in the back seat and called Scott, trying to explain where he was so that Scott could come pick him up. He didn’t think he could drive anymore without running himself off the road. All he knew is that the ache in his chest was growing steadily until it began to form an ocean wave, pulling him down until he was gasping for breath, clawing at his clothes and his skin, trying to be anywhere but where he was.

            Was it really a surprise that Derek was drunk again? _No_ , he thought to himself as he poured more Jack over his melting ice. He sighed and turned on the TV, hoping that Harry Potter was on. Wasn’t it always on? It was the weekend; therefore, Harry Potter should be on.

            Of course Harry Potter wasn’t on. What was on instead? Chicago. Derek grunted and changed the channel quickly.

            It had been three months since he and Stiles broke up, and two since Stiles had moved to Chicago. The first month had been scary for Derek, he was afraid to leave the house in fear of seeing Stiles—even more, he was afraid of seeing Stiles _happy_. He wanted him to be happy, of course, but it would have hurt Derek to see him happy so soon after, especially since Derek still felt like his organs were being ripped out of his body.

            Now, three months and some days later, Derek was alone and drunk. Scratch that—Derek thought as his doorbell rang—now he was just drunk.

            He opened the door to two smiling women, both of whom he currently resented.

            “Hi baby!” Lydia said, pushing past Derek and into the house. Erica simply shrugged apologetically and kissed him on the cheek. Derek knew they came over out of pity rather than friendship, but he liked to think that they at least kind of considered him a friend. Even if he did hate them sometimes. Derek followed Erica to the couch, where Lydia was already rattling off ‘things he had missed in the real world.’

            “Four months is a long time, Derek!” she scolded when she saw him rolling his eyes.

            “Hey, it’s only been three months,” Derek said.

            “And a half,” Erica interjected.

            “And anyways, I leave my house,” Derek said pointedly ignoring Erica’s comment.

            “Going to the store doesn’t count. Besides, you wouldn’t even do that the first month!”

            “You know why,” Derek said.

            “Yes, I do. But why did you take a leave of absence at work?” Lydia asked. “It’s not like you would see Stiles _there_.”

            “Lydia,” Erica shot a warning look in the redhead’s direction.

            “I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough of this,” Lydia huffed. “I think it’s high time you two put your bullshit aside and talk to each other. Especially with everything that’s going on.”

            “What’s going on?” Derek asked.

            “This is why you need to talk to him, Derek. He’s just having a hard time. Living with Jackson isn’t all it’s chalked up to be—trust me, I’ve tried to deal with it and—”

            “And now you’re a man hatin’ lesbian,” Erica chimed in, smiling sweetly.

            “Yes, and now I’m a man hatin’ lesbian,” Lydia said, and then added, “Well…”

            Derek gave himself a few minutes to think while Lydia and Erica argued over Lydia’s innate tendency to ‘at least _appreciate_ boys, Erica, God I may like girls but I can at least admit that boys can be pretty! Come on you dated Boyd, you know what I mean!’

            In the first few weeks, Derek had relentlessly stalked Stiles’ Facebook. There was never much on it, a few pictures in the beginning of Scott and Stiles in Millennium Park, posing by Cloud Gate, or ‘the bean’, as Stiles had captioned it. There weren’t many recent pictures, though. In fact, the latest one was dated two months ago, and Stiles looked miserable. Maybe Lydia was right about Stiles not being as happy in Chicago as Derek had thought. But it had been a month since they had had that conversation, and Lydia had seemed to drop the subject, even though Derek was starting to become interested in it again.

            He was taking her advice, and getting out of the house. It wasn’t much—just a trip to the mall—but it was a bigger step than grocery shopping.

            He was sitting in the food court, eating some gross Chinese food, when he felt someone right behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as whoever it was breathed right next to his ear, and he was about to turn around when he heard a sickly sweet voice say, “How’s the boyfriend?”

            Derek turned to face Kate, who was sitting backwards in a chair and leaning close to his ear. Derek shook her off and shifted away from her.

            “Oh, trouble in paradise, huh?” Kate hummed. Derek noticed two guys sitting at the table behind her, smirking.

            “I heard what happened. I hope he’s ok!” Kate continued with mock sincerity. Behind her worried eyes was an evil look that scared even Derek. He looked from Kate back to her two big henchmen, and opened and closed his mouth a few times. Kate practically cackled as she watched his brain work.

            “I thought you would have figured it out, but I’m actually glad you didn’t, because now I get to enjoy watching you process it.”

            In a move that he had only seen in movies, Derek dialed the sheriff’s number under the table.

            “ _You_ are the one who beat Stiles up?” Derek asked, glancing down to make sure the phone was at least calling Stilinski.

            “Oh, not me, of course,” Kate said, as the phone registered that someone had picked up. “I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty like that. My boys, however…”

            “Why? Why would you do something like that?” Derek asked, noticing that the Sheriff hadn’t deemed it a prank call and hung up. Yet.

            “Why do you think, Derek?” she said, tugging at her collar and revealing the necklace that he had gotten her for Christmas a few years ago.

            “You tried to _kill_ my boyfriend,” Derek said.

            “How many times do I have to explain that it wasn’t me. I just paid them. Why are you smiling?”

            “Because you’re a crazy bitch who’s going to jail for attempted murder,” Derek replied, really hoping that his words were true. He got up and walked away, waving the phone in her face before doing so. He knew that this gave her a chance to make a run for it—get out of town, but he was hoping that the Sheriff’s pure rage would prevent that from happening. He suspected that Stilinski was already well on his way.

            There were always tourists at Cloud Gate, Stiles noted, but it was still his favorite place to be, especially when he needed writing inspiration. His job, of course, was not all it was cracked up to be, just a small writing gig at a small magazine.     

            He was huddled on a bench, blowing warm air into his gloves and wondering _how_ tourists still managed to come out here in February when his phone buzzed.  It was from Jackson. _U have a visitor. Sent them 2 the bean. Figured u’d be there._ Stiles was in the middle of studying his phone when he felt someone sit down on the bench next to him. He automatically scooted away, since it was not uncommon of homeless people to join him on the benches, before he looked up.

            Why he didn’t expect Derek to be there was a mystery to him. Who else would have been visiting? Scott had just been here and his dad was hard at work trying to get Kate into jail. Yet, he was still surprised to see that half smile. So surprised, in fact, that he practically fell off the bench.

            “What are you doing here?” he asked, repositioning his body.

            “You missed Christmas,” Derek responded. He reached up carefully, cautiously, questioningly, and ran a hand across Stiles’ mostly bald head. “And I guess I missed a lot more than that.”


	6. Chapter 6

            “They originally found it when they were doing tests after my accident—after I got beat up,” Stiles said, sighing. They were back in his apartment; Jackson had given them privacy—not out of respect but more out of general loathing for more than one person at a time. “The tumor was malignant. They scheduled a surgery for the next day; might as well when they had me there already, right? I guess I have Melissa to thank for expediting the process. Anyways, that’s why my dad picked me up the next morning. Um, well, they thought they removed everything, and it was all well and good, no reason to tell you.” As he said this, Derek began to protest, but Stiles held a hand up. When Derek showed no signs of protest, Stiles dropped his gaze downward for a moment and ran his hand against his scalp, touching it like he still wasn’t used to the hairlessness.

            “Uh, okay. And then things were good. I mean besides you being crazy about me not getting killed again, which I appreciate. But I still wasn’t feeling great; I was super tired all the time and all that shit. I got the call from the magazine about Chicago and honest to god, Der, I never intended on going without you.

            “I thought it over for a few days, longer, if I’m honest. I let it slip at the worst time though, I know I shouldn’t have mentioned it while we were fighting. But after I walked away, I was waiting outside the door for you to come out so we could talk about it, and my phone rang. And—and it was the freaking hospital, Der. I had been going in every two weeks for routine checks…and they found more melanoma. It wasn’t gone. And then you came in the room and you were so sweet and you were telling me that you would come with me and I knew that I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t hurt you like that. And I just,” Stiles made a flappy motion with his hands, “I just left. And it was the hardest God-damned thing I’ve ever had to do. 

            “I stayed with Scott until they cleared me to go to Chicago. Leaving was so shitty. But I really didn’t want to do that to you guys. I didn’t want you to have to go through what I did with my mom. And then I got here, and they had me in a big treatment center, nurses poking my veins for chemo. And, I mean, I know I’ve had a buzz cut before, but I do _not_ look good bald. Like what is this bump? I don’t know. Anyway, I guess that brings us to where we are now.”

            “And where is that?” Derek asked, tears shamelessly rolling down his cheeks.

            “Hopeful,” Stiles replied, reaching a hand out to wipe a tear away. Derek deflected this, however.

            “You don’t get to do that,” he said. “You don’t get to touch me like everything is okay when you _lied_ to me.”

            Stiles nodded like he understood. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Can we start over? As friends? I kind of need one right now.”

            Derek was quiet for a long time, before he said, “Jackson’s not your friend?” Stiles looked up, surprised for a moment, until he saw the small smile on Derek’s face.

            Derek stuck around. Stiles was grateful. He offered Derek a place to sleep, even if it was kind of a shitty futon, but he understood when Derek politely declined to stay in a hotel instead. They needed to start over, learn to be friends, and sleeping two rooms away was going to make that a lot harder.

            They kept a reasonable distance, getting lunch once a week. Derek would come over every once in a while and help Jackson clean the apartment, seeing as Stiles was getting weaker.

            He was in his bed long past noon most days. His usual morning routine was: wake up, throw up, eat breakfast, throw up, watch tv, go to chemo if it was a Tuesday, and go to sleep around nine. He generally had a less than eight hour day. Derek started showing up to take him to chemo, and he began staying with him until he fell asleep. It was nice to have a real friend around again. Scott had visited during the holidays, even though Stiles had insisted he stay home with his family, (which, it turns out, was including his dad these days) but Scott had just brought them to him. Derek was different, though. Besides their past, it was nice to actually _have_ a friend—someone to call, no matter what, someone who was in the city for more than three days. Stiles was grateful.

            It was early April, and Derek was showing no signs of leaving. He came over once a week for lunch (since Stiles could no longer go out) and he continued cleaning the house. Everything was the same as it had been the last few months until one day in early April when the doorbell rang. Stiles looked up from the story he was working on—luckily, the magazine had understood and let him work from home, on a new segment called ‘“My Cancer and Me”—and looked from Derek to Jackson. Jackson even looked kinda giddy.

            “I’ll get it?” Stiles said, voice rising in question. Derek nodded. If Derek was letting Stiles get up and move ten feet across the room, it _must_ be important. He opened the door slowly, revealing a chocolatey brown eyeball. An eyeball that could only belong to the one and only, “Scotty?” Stiles asked, throwing the door open.

            “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” shouted a chorus of people from the threshold. Everyone was there; Lydia, Erica, Allison, Boyd, Isaac, even their new friend Kira that Scott had told Stiles about. Allison was the first to come forward, squeezing Stiles with just the right amount of pressure. He could almost feel his heart bursting, but in the best way possible.

            “How?” Stiles asked looking from face to face.

            “Ask Derek,” Scott said, beaming at his best friend.

            “You did this?” Stiles asked, turning to face Derek.

            “Hey, I helped!” Jackson piped up before Derek could say anything.

            “We even brought you an extra special surprise guest,” Scott said, parting to reveal a small animal carrier that Boyd had been trying to hide.

            “Frodo!” Stiles cried, ushering them all through the door.

            Derek, it turns out, was an absolute saint of a best friend. He had called Scott and arranged for everyone to fly up the day before Stiles’ birthday (which Stiles had honestly almost forgotten) to surprise him. Seeing his friends together in his small apartment in downtown Chicago put a permanent smile on his face, one that even melanoma couldn’t seem to wipe off.

            It was one of those rare nights where Stiles was awake past ten. Most of the others were asleep on the various couches in the living room. The only perk to having Jackson as a roommate was that Stiles didn’t have to buy any of the furniture. Most of it was already there when Stiles had moved in (also rent free, thanks to Jackson’s trust fund).

            Scott and Stiles were sharing a recliner that could have fit at least one other person, talking quietly.

            “So Kira’s pretty cool,” Stiles said. Scott blushed and Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Mr. Monogamous has a crush? What are you going to do about Allison? I _know_ you would never break her heart.”

            “Well,” Scott said sheepishly, “we kind of solved that together.”

            “What you mean like—wait. Allison is okay with you sexing up someone else!?”

            “As long as she’s involved too,” Scott said, trying to sound nonchalant. Stiles practically flailed out of the chair as Scott laughed.           

            “No. Fucking. Way. Dude. Dude that’s amazing.”

            Scott laughed and then got serious, “So, Derek’s been taking pretty good care of you,” he said.

            “Yeah, he has,” Stiles replied, smiling fondly at the bearded man, who was currently cuddled up with both Lydia and Erica on the couch.

            “Miss him?”

            “Of course I do, Scotty. But it’s nice to know that we can put our relationship in the past. I really think we’re going to make it as friends.” Derek stirred and looked around groggily. When he realized where he was, he kissed Erica on the forehead and got up.

            “I better go,” he said, scratching his beard.

            “Oh, stay,” Stiles said, waving his hand. “Take my bed. I’m not sure I can move from here anyway.” He tried to say it lightly, but Derek and Scott both shot him worried looks.

            “I’m okay, you guys,” Stiles responded unconvincingly.

            The next day was going to be a long one for Stiles, even though everyone kept telling him to sleep as long as he wanted. Which was forever, at this point, but that _wasn’t_ the point. He woke up to shuffling feet and groggy yawns. When his friends realized that he had opened his eyes, they all wished him sleepy _happy birthday_ ’s. Stiles realized that they were all getting dressed.

            “Where are you guys going?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his still-tired eyes.

            “The real question is: where are _we_ going?” Lydia said happily, throwing a package at Stiles. “I couldn’t wait. Plus, you _do_ need something to wear!”

            Stiles laughed when he opened the package, revealing a beanie and some fake prescription wire rimmed glasses.

            “I figured you had to go full hipster _once_ in your life.” she smiled sadly before shoving the glasses onto his face. She laughed and took them off again, handing them to Erica. “Okay, never mind. Definitely no glasses. But the beanie is a go.”

            Stiles found himself, once again, looking at his warped reflection in the mirrored surface of Cloud Gate. It was unusually warm for Chicago, especially in April, but Stiles was shivering nonetheless.

            They had set up a picnic for him, all of his favorite foods. Scott even told him that his doctor had OK’d one beer, which was a godsend. After they finished eating, they handed him his presents.

            Most of his gifts were the kind you expect to get when you’re dying; gloves, knit with love; pictures in shiny frames; long, heartfelt cards. He thanked each of them profusely, though the gifts were just making him more sad. When he was finished thanking everyone, Scott presented him with an envelope, which he said was from ‘everyone.’

            Stiles was surprised to find a plane ticket, one way to Beacon Hills, no date. There was only a note that said ‘home will always be here.’ He looked at Scott searchingly.

            “We don’t wanna push you, dude, but we all want you to come home,” was his reply. Stiles nodded, trying not to let them see the tears that were threatening to escape.

            A few days later, when Derek was cleaning the house after everyone had left, he found one of Stiles’ articles. It was one of the first he had written in his ‘My Cancer and Me’ series. On principal, Derek had never read Stiles’ articles. At first it was because the pain of losing him was too much, and even reading his written words hurt. Then it was just to give Stiles something of his own. His cancer was making it hard for him to have much of anything to himself these days, and Derek wanted to give this to him.

            He couldn’t help himself, though, and read the first few paragraphs.

            _Without my cancer_ , it began, _there are a lot of things I could be doing. I could be at home, with my family. That must be one of the things that I miss the most about being cancer-free. Waking up every day, happy and healthy, to someone who loves me. Though I owe my family my life (heh) for helping me through this trying time, I would much rather owe it to them for being there just because. Cancer makes everyone a lot sadder than it should. Putting my family through this is one of the worst things I could imagine doing. The fact that they have no choice but to stick with me during my ‘battle,’ as they call it, makes me the saddest. My one wish is that I can take away all the pain my family feels from seeing me this way and put it onto myself. It doesn’t matter how much pain I’m dealing with right now, I would take it a million times over if my family could stop hurting._

            “Seriously, dude, where are we going?” Stiles asked, trying to guess their location through the tinted windows of the car. “We’re not… Derek, why are we at the airport?”

            “Because you’re going home,” Derek said, getting out of the car and opening the door for Stiles.

            O’Hare was as busy as ever, and Stiles had to sit down within minutes of passing security. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to go home,” Stiles said.

            “I’m not going to force you to do anything,” Derek replied, standing above him. Stiles gestured around him. “Okay, well you needed a _little_ push, but I’m not going to make you go if you don’t want to.”

            Stiles thought for a moment before saying, “I don’t want people I’ve known forever to see me like this, like, I don’t know, my high school teachers.”

            “It’s almost June. Don’t teachers skip town almost as fast as their kids do?”

            Stiles tried to smile, but the attempt was weak. Derek crouched down in front of him, leaning his hands on Stiles’ knees.

            “Hey, hey, you don’t have to go,” he said softly.

            “I don’t wanna,” Stiles said, tears filling his eyes.

            “Okay, you don’t have to,” Derek said, reaching up to brush a long eyelash off of Stiles’ face.

            “No, Derek. I don’t want to _die_ ,” Stiles said, covering his face with his hands. Derek brought them back down to his lap and cupped his face gently.

            “You’re not going to die. Chemo went well. They’re going to call with results soon. You’re not going to die, Stiles.” Without thinking, Derek leaned forward and pressed his mouth firmly to the younger man’s. He knew it was a bad idea, and Stiles was under too much pressure already, but it was all he could do to not burst into tears himself. “I’m not going to let you die,” Derek growled.

            “That’s really cliché,” Stiles said, laughing a little as he wiped away his tears.

            Derek smiled. “Is there anything I can do?” Stiles nodded and swallowed.

            “Marry me.”

            Stiles got the call a few weeks later. They had been waiting for days. It had been a few months since his last chemo treatment, and his hair had been growing back--slowly, and in small tufts--but grow back it did. and even if he did get the all clear, it didn’t mean he was cancer-free. If just meant he was in remission. If it was gone, it could come back.

            Derek was putting the finishing touches on a bookshelf they had bought a few days before, but hadn’t gotten around to building until now. He was taking a small break, twirling the thin gold engagement ring on his finger. He stopped dead when Stiles came into the room clutching the phone in his hand so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

            “Derek,” he sobbed, dropping the phone.


	7. Epilogue

The call was good news: Stiles was officially in remission.

 

He wanted to be in remission for at least a year before he and Derek got married.

 

They got married the next July, right around the time that they, two years ago, had met.

 

Allison was the flower girl (it was a lifelong dream of hers since she’d had to drop out of a wedding due to pneumonia when she was four).

 

Laura walked Derek down the aisle, while Frodo walked Stiles down. (Just kidding, the sheriff held Frodo and walked them down.)

 

Derek didn’t want a first dance because he claimed Stiles was an embarrassing dancer. When he finally agreed, he insisted the song had to be some rendition of “This is Love” from Cinderella.

 

Stiles started going to the hospital to visit kids with cancer. He didn’t tell Derek at first. When Derek found out, he cried and told Stiles that if it was something he needed to do alone, he could, but he didn’t ever want Stiles to have to face these things alone again. Eventually the two of them began to go together.

 

The Sheriff and Melissa eventually moved in together, which made for large, loud family dinners.

 

A few years down the road, they adopted their first child, a dark haired girl that they named Talia. Their second child, a boy they named Claude, wasn’t far behind.

 

Lydia and Erica never officially got married, although Erica eventually caved and bought Lydia a ring (but only so she would stop talking about how much she liked diamonds).

 

Kira eventually decided she couldn’t be a third wheel in Scott and Allison’s relationship anymore and gracefully backed out. She admitted that she had her eye on someone else, but never mentioned a name. (Though she was rumored to have visited a certain mexican-loving someone in France).

 

Scott and Allison finally got married after announcing that Allison was pregnant with twins.

 

Derek and Stiles never moved. When Talia was seven and Claude was five, they came upstairs with tears in their eyes. “We broke your special window,” Talia cried while Stiles rubbed her back. Claude wiped his nose and Derek pulled him onto his lap. “We’ll just have to show you guys how to fix it, then it can be all of our special window,” was his only response as he smiled at his husband.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hallelujah! I have so many people to thank!
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful betas: kristianlaura.tumblr.com, demondimples.tumblr.com, hotterthanhale.tumblr.com and Luke (hellacopt3r.tumblr.com)
> 
> a GIANT thank you to ealdra.tumblr.com for enduring all of my stressed messages  
> another giant thank you to oziancarnival.tumblr.com for editing so short notice
> 
> and of course thank you to my original non-editing betas and best friends, Kiera (ygrits.tumblr.com) and Lydia (everythingsanilllusion.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy!


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